


Amazing Grace

by shadowsamurai



Category: Foyle's War, Waking the Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/F, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-24
Updated: 2012-06-24
Packaged: 2017-11-08 10:52:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 36,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/442424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowsamurai/pseuds/shadowsamurai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A case has an unexpectedly personal connection for Grace, exposing a secret she has tried to keep all her life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers up to and including S6 but nothing specific, for Waking the Dead.

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

"Good morning," Stella said brightly as she entered the squad room.

"Morning!" Grace called back.

"STELLA!"

The DC froze at the sound of her name being shouted and she turned slowly to see Boyd rushing out of his room.

"Stella, I…." He paused and took a deep breath. "Good morning, DC Goodman. How are you today?"

"I'm fine, thank you, sir. And yourself?" Stella replied apprehensively.

Boyd opened his mouth to answer, but what came out was, "Fix the bloody coffee machine before I throw it through the window!" He turned and stormed back into his office, calling from his desk, "And I'm fine, thank you!"

"Someone sounds happy today," Eve stated as she came in from the direction of the lab. "Morning all."

"Morning, Eve," Grace said, coming into the squad room. "Oh, he's always like that. I thought you'd have gotten used to it by now."

"Oh, I have," Eve assured her. "I just like to state the obvious."

"It's working, sir!" Stella shouted.

Boyd reappeared as if by magic at the machine, his mug outstretched. "That's great! What was wrong with it?"

Stella looked awkward. "It, er, wasn't plugged in, sir."

Boyd stared at her for a moment, while Grace muttered, "Oh dear," under her breath.

"Well, why did you unplug it last night?" Boyd asked loudly, gesturing with his free hand.

"I didn't!" Stella shouted back.

"Look!" Eve said, holding her hand up. "Coffee has been made, the machine isn't broken. Can we act like adults now?"

Before Boyd could offer a rebuke, Spencer burst into the squad room. "I smell coffee!" He grabbed his mug off his desk, sniffed it to make sure it was clean enough, and strode over to the machine where the rest of the team were congregated. "Morning, morning, morning…," he said cheerfully, looking at Eve, Grace and Stella. "And good morning, sir."

Boyd scowled. "Get out of the other side of the bed next time, Spence."

"Wall's in the way."

"Exactly."

Spencer looked around. "Yeah, it looks tidy enough."

Grace frowned. "What?"

"Oh, the DAC's on his way down."

Boyd jerked, spilling hot coffee all over his shirt. "Shit! Spence!"

"What?" Spencer replied innocently.

"This was a clean shirt!" Boyd retorted.

"Put your jacket on and fasten it," Eve suggested. "The DAC won't notice."

Boyd looked down ruefully at the dark stain on his cream shirt. "Shit. Stella, clean this up!" He pointed to the mess on the floor and strode into his office.

"But, sir!" Stella started to protest.

"Just do it!" Boyd shouted back.

Spencer grinned as Stella grabbed some kitchen roll, but soon sobered when he saw Eve and Grace's glares. "Let me help you."

"How do you know the DAC is coming here?" Grace asked.

Spencer looked up. "How many other units have offices down here?"

"Good point," Eve replied.

"Spence! Have you got a clean shirt lying around?" Boyd yelled from his office.

Spencer stared at him. "I'm not the one who sleeps here. Sir. Don't you have one lying around?"

"Do you see a bloody wardrobe anywhere?" Boyd retorted.

Grace held her hands up. "Will you two *please* play nicely? Spencer, once you've cleaned that coffee up, sit at your desk and be quiet. Boyd, just put your bloody jacket on and stop complaining. Once the DAC's gone, nip home and change."

"I've only just got here!"

"And?"

Boyd glowered at her, but didn't reply. Instead, he turned and went back into his office, muttering darkly. Everyone else looked at Grace with great admiration. "I would love to know how you got him so well trained," Eve said, sipping her coffee.

"Bondage," Grace replied.

Unfortunately, Boyd chose that moment to come out of his office, wearing a clean, if somewhat crumpled, shirt. "Found one," he announced triumphantly, just in time for Eve to turn blindly and spray coffee all over him. *"Shit!"*

*"Shit!"* the pathologist exclaimed at the same time, and immediately started to try and wipe the coffee off Boyd's shirt. "I am *so* sorry, Boyd." Then she stopped, realising that she was actually fondling his chest. "Okay, *this* is why I stick to dead people! You don't have to observe the niceties with dead bodies."

"Am I interrupting something?" a voice asked.

The entire team decided to try and play musical statues, but they knew they'd have to move sooner or later. Boyd was the first to do so. "Sir," he greeted the DAC. "We just had a problem with the coffee…." He was going to say 'machine' but decided to just leave it at that. It wouldn't matter what he said; the DAC wouldn't believe him anyway.

"I see," the DAC replied in a disbelieving tone of voice.

Boyd sighed. "What can we do for you, sir?"

"I have a new case for you, but…." He held his hand up. "…Before you all get excited, hear the outline."

"That doesn't sound good," Grace muttered.

The DAC ignored her. "This case has been brought to our attention by some very influential people…*very* influential people. Now, for once, I'm in agreement with you, Boyd."

"I haven't said anything yet, sir!" Boyd protested.

"You think too loudly. I agree this case is probably a waste of time and that you would be better working on other, more important cases, ones not influenced by the amount of money a person has, or their connections to the commissioner. However…." The DAC shrugged. "That's the way it is."

"What's the case?" Eve asked.

The DAC opened the file he was carrying. "During World War Two, there were a series of deaths in police custody that were largely ignored at the time, though it was, of course, deemed odd. Now a relative of one of the men who died has come forward claiming they have proof their grandfather was murdered, and that it was the ranking police officer in the station that killed him and the others." He looked around at the team. "If, and I mean *if*, this proves true, there may be a call for all of this officer's cases to be re-examined."

Spencer was staring incredulously at the DAC. "You can't be serious, sir! I mean, it was over sixty years ago!"

"I know, DI Jordan, but as I said, this person is extremely influential," the DAC replied.

"Who is the officer we're investigating?" Grace asked in a quiet voice.

"A Chief Superintendent Christopher Foyle," the DAC replied.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

The atmosphere in the squad room after the DAC had left was as thick as pea soup and twice as deadly. Under any other circumstances, it might have been funny; Spencer looked at Stella, who looked at Eve, who looked at Boyd, who looked at Grace, who snapped, “What?”

Boyd sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Okay, look, I know none of us likes this. Personally, I think it's a waste of time." He leant back in his chair. "But it's one of those unfortunate circumstances where we don't have a choice."

"You mean because if we don't come up with the right answer," Spencer started.

"You mean the answer this person wants, which may or may not be the right answer," Eve corrected.

"The Met gets sued for gross negligence more than sixty years after the crimes were supposed to have been committed," Stella finished.

Boyd nodded. "It was nice of the DAC to mention that as an afterthought, wasn't it?" His tone was a whole new shade of sarcastic. "Look, this isn't the first time we've had to deal with a case like this."

"No, Boyd, it *is* the first time," Grace interrupted.

The team looked surprised at her tone, but no one more than the DSI who she addressed. "You remember the nail case, don't you?" he replied in a rather mild voice.

"Technically, they weren't nails, boss," Spencer said.

"And we have investigated our fair share of corrupt officers," Stella added.

Only Eve seemed to notice that the conversation was not having the positive effect on Grace the others obviously wanted it to. "Why are you being so compliant?" the profiler asked Boyd. "Normally you're the first to object to something like this."

"Believe me, Grace, I am not going to let the threat of being sued sway this investigation," Boyd replied extremely firmly. "We'll do our jobs properly and hand the DAC whatever conclusion is drawn."

Grace folded her arms. "I still don't like it," she grumbled.

Everyone looked shocked as she proceeded to sulk, though the surprise quickly gave way to amusement, and the team all looked pleadingly at Boyd to give them orders so they could vacate the squad room, presumably to crack a couple of ribs laughing.

Boyd, however, had an Eve moment of perceptiveness. He did start to issue orders, but not to allow his team to vent their mirth. "Alright, let's get some information in the board, shall we?" It was voiced like a suggestion, but the tone was invariably command, and everyone sobered immediately.

"The DAC didn't give us much information," Stella started. "He said that we would have to collect the relevant files ourselves."

Spencer pulled a face. "Wasn't that nice of him?"

"He did give us the names of the victims," Stella replied.

"Suspected victims, Stella," Boyd corrected in a pain tone. "We don't actually know whether they were murdered or not yet."

The DC's expression turned bright, like a thousand watt light bulb on ecstasy. "How about 'dead men', sir? Would that work?"

Boyd groaned and buried his head in his hands, but not before he noticed a smile tugging at Grace's lips. *'That's something, anyway,'* he thought to himself as he continued his theatrics. He didn't know what had wound her up so much, and he didn't fancy his chances of ever finding out. But miracles had been known to happen, if one screwed their eyes up and stood on their head, so it was a reasonable thought that Boyd could discover the reason for Grace's discontent without making a total balls up along the way.

"Try 'the deceased'," Eve told Stella with a fond smile.

Stella grinned back. "Thanks. Okay, we have…Percy Hammerton, Edward Tanner, Albert Smith, James Talbot, and Frank Leiter."

Spencer frowned. "That last guy sounds American."

"It's possible, Spence," Boyd replied. "Alright, you and Stella find the files on these guys. I want records of why they were arrested, death certificates…Eve, you might be able to help with that. See if any evidence still exists from back them, though don't hold your breath over it. I also want the name of the person who has so kindly brought this to our attention and any information we know about them. And I want to know everything there is to know about this Detective Chief Superintendent Foyle."

Grace expression had finally grown fully amused. "Do I detect a tone there, Boyd?"

"Why would there be a tone, Grace?" Boyd asked, his attempt at mildness and innocence rather pathetic. "Just because he outranks me. So what? He's probably been dead for at least forty years by now."

The profiler opened her mouth to make a retort but decided against it. Instead, she forced a smile onto her face and replied, "What has that got to do with it? Dead or not, he still outranks you."

"Good, I'm glad we've established that," Boyd said sourly. "Can we now get on with some work?"

"I'll be…," Eve started.

"In the lab," Stella and Spencer chorused together, looking at each other and rolling their eyes.

"What do you want me to do, Boyd?" Grace asked.

"What you do best, Grace," he replied. "Profile."

"What, exactly? Or who?"

"Whoever you feel like. And if you don't feel like it, you can help collect files."

Grace shook her head. "Fine." She stood and headed to her office.

Boyd watched her go, his face strangely expressionless, then he felt a prickle on the back of his neck. "What are you two waiting for?" he asked Stella and Spencer, who had been staring at him and now looked guilty at having been caught. "Chinese New Year? Get a move on!" He stormed into his office and slammed the door, more for effect than any real sense of irritation.

Boyd paced for a few moments, then settled behind his desk, presumably to study some officious piece of paper, but really he was counting. Then, once again sighing in mock frustration because he knew his subordinates were watching - after all, they had nothing better to do - he snatched the phone from its resting place. Out of the corner of his eye, Boyd could see Stella and Spencer's heads snap downwards, and he knew they assumed he was now going to yell at someone, something they didn't need or want to witness.

*"Hello?"*

"Are you going to tell me why you're in a mood or should I just take a wildly inaccurate guess?" Boyd asked without preamble.

Grace turned but he was staring down at his desk. Despite her 'mood', as Boyd put it, she couldn't help but smile at his approach to 'talking about things'. Of course, she wasn't going to make it easy for him.

*"I am not, as you so politely put it, 'in a mood',"* she replied.

"And I've just won the Nobel Peace Prize for diplomacy," Boyd told her without even waiting a beat. "You're not happy about this case. Why?"

Grace sighed. *"It's not important, Boyd, really. I just…I feel like our time is being wasted, that's all. Plus I don't see the point of destroying the reputation and memory of a police officer who isn't here to defend himself."*

"I understand that, Grace, but there's the possibility that this Foyle *is* guilty."

*"I doubt it."*

Boyd chanced a glance to his left, and found Grace staring right back at him. "There's something you're not telling me, and I'm not that stupid that I can't see it's important. If you know something that could compromise this investigation…."

*"I would never do that, Boyd, you know that,"* she replied, holding his gaze. *"Besides, I'm not the one who has a history of compromising investigations."*

Boyd's expression grew grave and his eyes turned flat. Turning away, he said, "That was below the belt, Grace, and you bloody well know it. If you don't want to share the problem, that's fine, but don't think about waving that 'friends' banner under my nose again any time soon." With that, he slammed the phone down and rested his forehead against his fingertips.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

"It isn't normal," Spencer muttered.

Stella sighed. "So you've said, Spencer," she replied in her accented voice.

"Well it isn't!"

"Do you have a point to make or are you just trying to be annoying? Because in case you haven't noticed, we've got all these files to sort through!" Stella gestured in exasperation at the folder-littered desks.

Spencer looked a little injured before remembering the obvious. "You know, I outrank you. Do you think we could at least try for a bit of respect?"

"Act like my superior and you'll get it," Stella snapped, then sighed again. "I'm sorry, Spencer, but I have to say this case is one of the worst we have had to deal with, especially because of all the information we've uncovered so far."

"I know," Spencer replied glumly. "We've got everyone's family history, living relatives, the works. This is going to take us for ever." He looked up in the direction of Grace's office first, then glanced at Boyd's. "It isn't normal!"

"What isn't?" Eve asked as she came into the room. She headed to straight to the coffee machine, but not before smiling warmly at Stella.

"Boyd and Grace had a fight," Stella replied, turning in her chair so her knees touched the pathologist's.

"I'd say that was fairly normal," Eve stated.

Spencer rolled his eyes. "Yes, but it looked like it was *Grace* who upset *Boyd*."

Eve parted her lips, forming a perfect 'O' shape, but she decided against actually making the noise. "How are you both doing?"

Spencer made an indelicate sound and Stella pulled a face. "Wonderfully, thanks for asking," the DI said sarcastically. "You?"

"I've managed to get all the autopsy files on the deceased men sent over," Eve replied in an offhand tone. "And I've just started to go through them. Nothing suspicious so far, but reports can easily be falsified." She glanced upside down at Spencer's watch. "Isn't it lunch time?"

"Do you want to go and suggest a break to Boyd?" Spencer replied.

Eve glanced in the direction of their boss's office. "No, thanks. I'll pass. Think I can sneak to the vending machine, then?"

Stella dived into her pockets and pulled out some change. "Chocolate," she stated. "Lots of it."

"I didn't need to be told, you know," Eve said.

Stella shrugged. "In case you had forgotten. Chocolate."

"Sandwich?"

"Chocolate."

"Just checking. Spence? What can I get you?"

"Anything except tuna." The DI shuddered. "You'd better get those two something as well. I'll try and disturb them when you get back."

"Why, Spencer, what a brave boy you are!" Eve exclaimed in a sugary tone.

The DI scowled. "Are you still here, woman? Come on, do your job!"

"I think you'll pay for that comment later," Stella predicted.

He shrugged. "Life would be boring if we all behaved all the time." Then his expression changed. "Uhoh. Visors down, truncheons at the ready."

Stella was just about to ask Spencer what he was talking about when she heard Boyd's door opening. A second later, Grace's door opened as well, and immediately the DC understood her colleague's statement. She dropped her gaze to the file in front of her and made a pretence of studying it. In truth, there was no need for the charade. Despite Stella and Spencer's grumbling, they had already learnt a surprising amount of information about the case in the few hours they had been working on it, and there would be no real reason for Boyd to shout, unless he just bloody well felt like it. The silence in the squad room was oppressive, like a heat wave in the desert, and Spencer fervently hoped that Eve wouldn't return from her meagre lunch run just yet. The last thing the situation needed was for an unsuspecting scientist to burst in, announcing in a loud voice her measly haul of rations.

"I was just going to call a team meeting," Boyd said in an astonishingly mild voice. The tone itself wasn't such a surprise; the shock was that it seemed genuine, and not his usual deceptively mild tone.

"Then that was good timing," Grace replied, smiling. Almost unconsciously, she stretched her hand out, placing it gently on his forearm. 'I'm sorry' she mouthed while staring at him.

Boyd smiled back and gestured wordlessly towards the general area of the squad room, but as Grace preceded him, he allowed his hand to rest in the small of her back, needlessly guiding her, the physical contact nonetheless speaking volumes. Whether Boyd or Grace noticed or not, Spencer and Stella both heaved a sigh of relief, especially as Eve chose that time to make her reappearance. She eyed Boyd warily, but Stella managed to catch her eye and wink. Words were so unnecessary sometimes.

"I come bearing gifts," the pathologist said, holding up several packets of what passed for food from a vending machine.

"Didn't someone warn us against Greeks doing that sort of thing?" Boyd asked.

"They did, but I'm not Greek," Eve replied, rolling her eyes.

"You talk it most of the time."

Spencer laughed. "Nice one, boss."

Boyd grinned. "I thought so."

"Boys," Grace murmured rolling her eyes.

"I was going to say children, but one of them happens to be my superior, so I don't think I'll say anything," Stella added.

Eve looked at her, amused. "One of them?"

Stella's eyes widened. "Why don't I write what we know on the board?"

"Excellent suggestion," Boyd murmured dryly.

"We have the ages of the men when they died, the cause of death, and the reason they were in police custody in the first place," Spencer said, tapping a pen against the desk as he read from his notes. "Percy Hammerton was thirty six, died of a heart attack, arrested for arson."

"Heart attack at thirty six?" Boyd repeated.

Spencer nodded. "And we've only got the coroner's report to go from seeing as any evidence of foul play would have been destroyed by sixty years of being buried."

Stella quickly took up where her colleague had left off to avoid any arguments. "Edward Tanner, thirty four, suicide by strangulation, arrested for theft."

"Albert Smith, twenty nine, died after choking on his own vomit, arrested for theft," Spencer continued while Stella wrote on the board. "James Talbot, thirty one, died of natural causes, arrested for violence, possibly murder."

Boyd looked sceptical. "Natural causes?"

"I'm just reading what it says, Boyd," Spencer replied. "The last is Frank Leiter, eighteen."

"And?" Boyd asked, a note of impatience creeping into his voice.

"That's all we've been able to find so far, sir," Stella said. "Spencer's original guess that he sounded American was right, so the information we have on him is…how do you say? Something like drawing."

"Sketchy," Grace supplied, surprising everyone a little. She had been so quiet they had almost forgotten she was there.

Stella smiled. "Some words I forget." She looked back at Boyd. "We were going to ask the American Embassy for assistance in tracking Mr Leiter's family down."

Boyd nodded. "Good. Eve, anything for us?"

"Only moussaka," she replied with a straight face.

The DSI groaned theatrically and pulled a face. "Eve," he whined.

"Boyd," she said, imitating his tone.

Spencer, Stella and Grace looked at each other. "There's something profoundly wrong with that," the profiler murmured.

The DC nodded. "I couldn't agree more."

"Don't be such bores," Eve replied airily. "No, I haven't got anything yet. As I was saying to Stella and Spencer before I went out for lunch…."

"You call this lunch?" Boyd asked, though Grace noted that didn't stop him from eating it.

Eve carried on talking as though he hadn't spoken at all. "I've received the autopsy files for the men, although I don't remember seeing Frank Leiter's name there. Something I'll check into. Everything sees to fit so far, but I've only scratched the surface."

Boyd nodded. "What about Foyle? What do we know about him?"

Surprisingly, it was Grace who spoke up, and Boyd began to have some suspicions at that point. He was, after all, a detective. Of course, he didn't have the foggiest idea what those suspicions actually were; he was still a man, after all. But he had Suspicions, and he felt just a little bit smug about that.

"Detective Chief Superintendent Christopher Foyle, based in Hastings, widower, one son, an RAF pilot named Andrew," Grace supplied. "He was a veteran of the First World War, but wasn't allowed to fight in the second, so his record says. He applied for a transfer to the War Department several times, but was rejected each time. Finally, he settled into policing his little corner of wartime Britain, doing his bit the best he could."

"And you just happened to have all that information at your fingertips?" Boyd asked innocently. "Or did your put your contacts to work?"

Grace smiled. "That would be telling, Boyd. That's all I can tell you so far. Oh, there are two other people that bear mentioning, a Detective Sergeant…no, sorry, Detective Inspector Paul Milner, and Samantha Stewart, Foyle's driver."

Stella, who had busy scribing on the board, turned. "Driver?"

"When I know more, I'll let you know," Grace replied with a nod.

"Alright, let's ask the obvious question first, yeah?" Spencer said. "Do we think this guy Foyle is guilty? I know that's the answer we're encouraged to find, but do we think someone of that rank, a WW1 veteran, would just kill all those men because he felt like it?"

"Could be, Spence," Boyd replied, sipping his coffee. Then he looked at Grace. "Could be post traumatic stress, from the First War, or it could be a revenge thing. They won't let him fight, he wants to fight, he loses it. What do you think?"

"Aside from your atrocious use of the language, it's possible," Grace told him.

"I thought my command of the language was good."

"For a policeman."

"Ouch," Spencer murmured.

"What we think is irrelevant," Stella stated. "With regards to the culpability of Mr Foyle, that is. What is important is that we sort through the evidence impartially."

"Do you want my job?" Boyd asked the French woman archly.

Stella blushed, something Eve approved of. "No, sir, I was just…."

"Let's get back to work, shall we?" Grace announced loudly, heading off any further bantering, playful or otherwise.

Boyd held her gaze steadily for a moment before standing. "I want to know everything there is to know about all those people." He pointed to the names on the board. "I don't care how many promises you have to make, how many people you have to blackmail or threaten, or who you have to call, just get what we need. And don't let any red tape get in your way."

Without waiting for any sort of response, Boyd turned and headed to his office. He had more important things to think about at that moment than the case.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

It should have been easy, but Boyd had learned the hard way that such things never were, especially where he was concerned. The case had progressed slowly over the first initial days, but two things had become apparent immediately: there was something extremely suspicious about Frank Leiter, as the team had been able to turn up absolutely nothing about him; and there was something wrong with Grace. There nothing at all Boyd could do about the former, and he wasn't sure what he could do about the latter either, but he felt he had to try. Of course, Boyd trying to use comforting words was like oil trying to mix successfully with water.

Sighing, he picked his phone up, stared straight ahead for a few moments, then put the receiver back down. Taking his glasses off, Boyd stood and strode out of his room, his manner clearly stating that anyone wanting to live would do well to ignore him, which Stella and Spencer did without even trying as they were too engrossed in what they were doing to notice the lion had emerged from its lair.

Grace barely looked up at the door to her office opened and then closed again, as she was used to interruptions, though when the person who had entered didn't speak, she was forced to lift her head.

"Is there a problem?" Grace asked in surprise. Boyd was sat on the couch opposite simply staring at her.

"You tell me," he replied, his deep voice quiet and calm. Grace decided it was a nice change to his usual drill sergeant routine.

She leant back in her chair. "There does seem to be a lot of gaps in this case. If I didn't know better, I'd say the DAC hasn't given us all the facts, and his omissions could be hindering our investigation."

Boyd nodded and turned his head slightly so he could see out into the squad room. "It wouldn't be the first time the powers that be have seen fit to keep us in the dark, but that wasn't what I was talking about." He turned back and looked her straight in the eye, a piercing kind of gaze that pinned her like a harpoon.

"I don't want to argue, Boyd."

"I'm not here to argue, Grace."

"That's a first."

"I didn't start the last one." Boyd took a deep breath as he felt his hackles rise, and he ran a hand through his hair. "Christ, Grace, I'm worried about you!"

A small smile tugged at her lips. "Was that so difficult to say?"

"Yes," Boyd replied, scowling. "Look, you know more about this Foyle character than you're letting on. You gave us a concise history of the man after only a few hours. I know you're good, Grace, but not that good." He allowed his expression to soften. "Are you going to tell me what's going on?"

"You'll have to remove me from the investigation," Grace said in a flat tone.

"That's my decision to make," he told her firmly.

Grace sighed deeply, then crossed the room and sat beside him. "I know the Foyle family. Or at least I did know them, when I was growing up. Andrew Foyle was my godfather and used to tell me stories about his father, Christopher, from during the war."

"What was he like?"

"Which one?"

Boyd smiled. "Both of them. Did you know the older Foyle?"

Grace shook her head. "In answer to your question, hard to resist."

"Pardon?" Boyd asked.

"The Foyle men were hard to resist." Grace smiled and laid her hand fondly on Boyd's arm. "Or at least that's what Andrew used to tell me. I'm sure he was exaggerating." She sighed sadly. "Andrew was somewhat scarred by the war, but he always tried to make his stories funny, which is why he told me about his father, about the work he did through the war." She turned to look at Boyd. "That's how I knew about Milner and Sam."

"Sam?"

"Samantha Stewart, Foyle's driver." Grace smiled. "Apparently she was quite a character."

Boyd stared at his friend, studying her face carefully. "Grace, you know I have to ask this, but…."

"Do I know anything that would help this investigation? Do I know whether Foyle was guilty or not?" Grace sighed again. "No, Boyd, other than being able to give fairly detailed character profiles on the two Foyles, Sam and Milner, I can't help. I can tell you that the Foyle Andrew told me about does *not* sound like a murder, not for any reason."

"Everyone's capable, Grace," he said softly.

She nodded. "True. Alright, I find it highly unlikely, bordering on impossible, that Foyle could have, and would have, killed those men. Not only because of his character, but because he would have had to have the support of all the policemen in Hastings station. You have to remember, Boyd, that there were only a few officers and they were particularly close-knit. Also, Milner and Sam were Foyle's closest allies…friends, if you will, and I cannot see either of them being party to murder."

Boyd slouched down on the couch and ran his hand through his hair. "Shit."

"What are you going to do now?"

"Get some coffee. Swear a little. Shout at those two outside. Go and annoy Eve. Not necessarily in that order either. Why?"

Grace couldn't stop the smile that spread onto her face. "I meant about me."

Boyd raised an eyebrow, then allowed the other to follow a few seconds later. "Are you propositioning me, Dr Foley?" he asked, barely suppressing the deep chuckle as she blushed magnificently. "Nothing, Grace. As far as I'm concerned, your connection to this case is tenuous at best, and I can understand this must be difficult enough for you without bringing this revelation to light. So unless you want to be taken off the investigation…."

"No, I don't." She smiled. "Thank you, Peter."

Boyd just nodded. "Just be careful what you say from now on. If I can work this out, the others definitely will and they'll ask you about it, only because they care. If you have any information about the people we're investigating, try to make it sound as though you found the information out through regular channels."

"I'll keep that in mind," Grace promised, then her eyes sparkled. "Did you say something about coffee?"

"Yeah, but you can get your own," he said, standing and heading out of her office, leaving the door open. "The exercise'll do you good, Grace!"

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Eve looked up as the door to the lab opened, and a warm smile spread across her face as she saw who was entering the room. "How's it going out there?"

Stella pulled a face. "Let's not talk about that."

"How are Boyd and Grace holding up?" the pathologist asked.

"Don't ask that either." Stella shook her head. "I think Boyd is…."

Eve finally stopped working, her curiosity piqued. "Boyd's what?"

"Spence told me to not mention it. He said it freaked him out."

Eve laughed. "That sounds like Spence. He can't handle much. Go on, tell me. I'm made of stronger stuff."

"Maybe I'll find out one day?" Stella asked, turning her head in pretence of looking at something so she could murmur the words deliberately. Her feelings were a private affair at the best of times, but when they concerned the team's scientist, Stella was particularly guarded for a number of reasons. It was strange, though; she didn't doubt that Eve flirted with her, or even that there could be a chance feelings were involved. In fact, that was what Stella feared the most; dreams were one thing, reality was a whole other issue.

"Are you still with me?" Eve asked in an amused tone.

Stella's head whipped round, her eyes wide. "What?"

Eve smiled. "You zoned out for a moment. Is my company that bad?"

Several replies jumped into Stella's head at once, but she chose the most innocuous answer. "I guess I was just thinking about this case. We aren't getting anywhere at all, and it's stressing everyone out."

"That reminds me, have you managed to find anything on Frank Leiter?" Eve asked, moving towards the extractor fan and taking out her cigarettes.

Stella perched on a stool. "No. I think that's part of the problem. It seems like he's a ghost." When she heard the pathologist's throaty chuckle, the French woman blushed. "Okay, I get it. Of course, he's a ghost, he's dead!"

Eve laughed harder, then got herself under control. "I know what you mean. It's like he doesn't really exist. Which can only mean one of a few things. Either he's a member of one of the intelligence agencies, either British or American, or he doesn't actually exist. And if that's the case…."

"There's some weird shit going on."

Both women jumped, not having heard the door open, and turned to see Spencer leaning against the frame. "You can come in, you know," Eve told him. "You don't need to hover."

"I'm not staying. Just wanted to let you know we're having a meeting. Bring what you've got." Spencer gave her a crooked smile. "And if you don't have anything, make something up."

"Is Boyd that bad?" Eve asked, returning the smile.

"Surprisingly enough, no, but it's only early." Spencer nodded to them both, then left.

Stella sighed, her expression glum. "I suppose we had better go."

Eve was silent, enduring an internal argument, and pure playfulness finally won out. "Unless you can think of something better to do," she replied with a smouldering gaze. Then, while Stella was gaping with her mouth hanging slightly open, Eve put her cigarette out, gathered her files up, and walked out of the lab, but she turned and looked over her shoulder when she reached the door. "Are you coming?"

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

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"Right, what have we got?"

Everyone in the room rolled there eyes. "Can't you think of a new line?" Grace asked.

Boyd looked at her. "Why? There's nothing wrong with that one."

"You're wearing it out."

For a moment, the others thought Boyd might actually smile. Then he turned and gestured wildly to the board. "You see this, people? I want it filled! I don't want to see any space. I don't want to be able to see the wall behind the board!" He clapped his hands together and faced his team. "So, what have we got?"

Eve opted to speak first. "Obviously, there isn't much I can tell you about the cause of deaths other than what is in the autopsy reports. I've made a few calls, but even the protégés of the coroner who was around at the time are dead. There are absolutely no additional records to give us any more information. However, I have managed to get copies of the death certificates for all…well, for most of the men."

"Most?" Spencer asked, frowning.

"I'll explain in a minute," Eve replied. "And I've also obtained the police reports of the deaths."

"Wait, why weren't they in with the rest of the material?" Stella asked.

Eve spread her hands. "I don't know."

"That raises an interesting question," Grace said, leaning forward onto the desk. "Do we know who exactly brought these accusations to the light again?"

Boyd shook his head. "The DAC only said it was someone influential, and that one of the victims was this person's grandfather."

"Don't you think that's a little strange?"

"Grace, I'm a police officer. I think everything is strange."

"I thought he was going to say 'I'm a police officer, I am strange'," Eve whispered to Spencer and Stella, who immediately became overcome by a coughing fit.

Grace managed to keep her smile under tight control; there was only Boyd who was not amused. "We are not amused," he replied in a haughty tone.

"It should be easy enough to find out who this person is, sir," Stella said. "We have a list of relatives for the deceased, and all we have to do is see which of them is the most influential."

"And you haven't done this already?" Boyd asked, his face stern. Then before Stella could blubber a response, he grinned. "No, that's a good thought. Work on that next."

Grace looked at Spencer. "I think that was some form of joke."

"It seemed like it," he agreed.

Boyd rolled his eyes. "Eve, please carry on before I have to arrest myself for murder."

"Alright." The scientist pointed to the board. "So, first on my list is Edward Tanner. He hung himself with his belt. Ligature marks on the neck confirmed this. According to the police record, he was found in the morning by the duty sergeant. He had been fine four hours previously when the night sergeant checked all the prisoners. And no one had entered or left the station during that time."

"So, evidence for Mr Tanner says suicide," Grace stated. "And so far, nothing to the contrary."

"I have a record of Mr Tanner's criminal activities here," Stella said, holding a sheet up. "This wasn't the first time he had been arrested for theft. Apparently he was making a bad habit of it."

Boyd frowned. "Do you have any more criminal records there?"

Spencer nodded for his colleague. "For a couple of the deceased, boss. Why?"

Grace answered for *her* colleague. "Doesn't it seem strange that the evidence has been kept separate like this?"

Spencer shrugged. "Not really. I mean, there could be any number of reasons why this lot got separated. It happens."

"Alright, let's move on," Boyd said. "Stella, rub that question mark next to 'suicide' off for Tanner. Until we find any evidence to the contrary, that's the verdict we'll stay with." He looked at Eve. "Who's next?"

"Albert Smith, choked on his own vomit. Was found on the floor of his cell not long after he had been arrested, his head in a pool of sick."

Spencer pulled a face. "Nice."

"The report says he was lying on his back," Eve continued, "And there were no other wounds on the body, so I would say again that death by accident is the only possible answer."

Boyd nodded. "Stella."

The DC wrote that on the board. "What was he arrested for?"

"Theft as well," Spencer replied. "And like Tanner, it wasn't his first offence."

"Could that be a link, sir?" Stella asked.

"It's possible," Boyd replied. "Draw a line between the two, label it with a question mark. That's something we can try and look into."

"Percy Hammerton," Eve said, looking at her notes. "Heart attack. Now I know that sounds unlikely at thirty six, but it isn't unheard of. In the police report, it mentions that Hammerton was being questioned at the time when he suddenly clutched his chest and collapsed. An ambulance was called and resuscitation was attempted at the scene. By the time the medics arrived, though, he was dead."

"Who was questioning him?" Boyd asked, almost dreading the answer.

Eve checked her notes. "Foyle, Milner, and two uniformed officers, Brown and Whitehouse. It was Milner who was actually speaking at the time of the attack, and Brown attempted to revive Hammerton while Foyle called the ambulance. If he was responsible for Hammerton's death, then the other three officers would have to have been accomplices." She looked at Grace. "Is that possible?"

"I've been doing some research on Milner, and while he was loyal to Foyle, there is nothing in his profile to suggest he would have gone along with something like this," Grace replied, and Boyd noticed she was actually reading from a sheet of paper. Obviously she had taken his advice, which surprised him, and what she was sharing with them now had actually come through official channels.

Stella looked at Boyd for confirmation as to what she should write. "Sir?"

"Leave the question mark there," he said, his tone neutral. "Let's be as certain as we can before we make a firm decision. Who's next?"

"James Talbot," Eve continued. "Died of natural causes."

After a brief silence, Spencer spoke up. "Is that it?"

She nodded. "Unfortunately, yes. There's nothing in the report that suggest foul play, though. He was simply found dead in the cell. There were no marks or wounds on his body, nothing to suggest a heart attack. He just…died."

"Well that's suspicious to start with," Spencer stated.

"Maybe, but without evidence…." Stella stopped and held her hands out, palms up.

Boyd had his hands clasped behind his head. "Aaarrrggghhh!" he said, his voice growing progressively louder.

Grace smiled faintly. "For once, I agree."

Spencer looked at Eve. "Let me guess, the one you don't have any information is Frank Leiter."

She nodded. "Exactly."

"That guy is starting to annoy me," the DI muttered.

"That makes two of us," Boyd agreed. He looked at Spencer, then Stella. "Have you been able to find anything else about Leiter?"

Stella shook her head. "Nothing, sir. We've contacted the American Embassy and they said they will look into it. If they find anything, they will let us know. But there's nothing in our records at all. It really is like he didn't exist."

The silence that followed was full of frustration and tension. "Look, someone has to say it and it might as well be me," Grace said eventually. "This case is a farce. We have no new evidence, nothing at all to go on, except for this mysterious influential person." She looked at Boyd, and the others noticed there was something almost challenging in her gaze. "If you ask the DAC, do you think he'll tell you who asked us to take this case on?"

Boyd grunted. "No. I don't know why, though. It's almost like this is some sort of game."

"Some game," Eve said.

Stella sat down, accidentally-on-purpose brushing the scientist's knee with her hand as she did so. "So really, we don't know any more than we did when we started, do we?" she asked.

"Not really," Eve replied, smiling at the DC. Their exchange of looks didn't go unnoticed by Grace and, surprisingly, Boyd, who just raised his eyebrows slightly.

"Alright." The DSI ran a hand through his short cropped silver hair. "Let's concentrate on the relatives of the victims, see if we can work backwards, try to find something we can work with. I want to know if it's possible Foyle was set up, and if he was, why." He stretched his arm out and squinted at his watch. "But tomorrow. We'll start fresh tomorrow."

Everyone was surprised at their boss' show of generosity, but they didn't question it. As they all dispersed to collect their jackets and other belongings, Eve waylaid Stella.

"I was wondering…." The pathologist took a deep breath. "Do you fancy a drink? Just the two of us?"

Stella's eyes widened and she couldn't help the silly grin that spread across her face. "Sure. That would be great."

"Hey, ladies, fancy a drink?" Spencer called over.

Both shook their heads. "I'm going straight home," Stella said on impulse.

Eve followed it quickly with, "I'm going up to the body farm for a while."

Spencer narrowed his eyes. He had the feeling something was going on, but his mind refused to think about what it was. He just nodded to the ladies and turned to bid the other two goodnight. Unfortunately, something was also going on with them as well, but it was a little more subtle. Shaking his head, Spencer decided it was better on his sensibilities if he just called a loud 'good night' to anyone who was listening and left the office as quickly as possible. Some things he just did not want to think about.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

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"YES!" Stella shouted exuberantly. "Yes, yes, YES!"

Spencer, after stopping himself from falling of his chair, looked at his colleague in amazement. "What? What've you found? Please tell me it's something good."

"It's better than good, Spence, it's fantastic!" Stella replied, grinning broadly. "It could be the breakthrough we've been waiting for."

Boyd's office door banged open and the man himself stood there trying his best to look like a thunder cloud. He was succeeding surprisingly well. "*What* is all the noise for?"

"Stella's made a breakthrough, sir," Spencer said quickly.

Boyd's eyes lit up and he strode across to the desk. "That's great! Okay, let's hear it."

"Should we call Eve and Grace in, sir?" Stella asked, a little wide-eyed. Despite having been with the unit for almost two years, her boss' lightning quick mood swings still took her by surprise.

"Fine, fine," he replied impatiently, then sat drumming his fingers on the table as Stella ran to the lab and Spencer went to fetch Grace from the inner sanctum of her office.

The profiler was frowning as she sat next to Boyd. "If you wish to keep your fingers intact, I suggest you cease and desist," she told him firmly. "Otherwise I'm going to snap each and every digit clean off!"

Boyd managed to look shocked while the others tried not to laugh. "Is it that annoying?"

Grace smiled sweetly and nodded. "So, why the urgent summons?"

Stella stood next to the board, practically bouncing on her toes. "Spencer and I have been working on building a list of relatives for each of the victims and I think I've found who might be responsible for us taking this case on."

"Well done," Eve murmured warmly, and the DC blushed a little.

"So, who is it?" Boyd demanded to know.

"Why don't you put all the relatives up there?" Grace suggested, overriding Boyd's question. "If we're going to a have a picture, we might as well have a full one."

"Grace…."

"You said you didn't want to see any space on the board," she replied the DSI.

The vein in Boyd's temple throbbed to the same beat as the muscles in his jaw were clenching. "A word, please," he managed to grind out. Looking surprised, Grace followed him into his office, but Boyd hung back and glared at the rest of the team. "I want those names on the board by the time I get back!"

"Is there a problem?" Grace asked mildly.

"I can understand how this case must be difficult for you, being somewhat personally involved, but that does not give you the right to undermine me in front of the team," Boyd said, his tone somewhat cold.

"Someone has to be the soothing balm for your abrasive nature."

"They're not children, Grace!" Boyd shouted, gesturing at the others outside. "They don't need gentle handling! I thought you'd have realised that by now."

The profiler opened her mouth to say something, then changed her mind. "I have. I'm sorry, it won't happen again. Shall we?" She turned to leave, but jumped violently when she felt a hand on her elbow, twisting her back round.

Boyd's eyes were as soft as they had been hard not seconds ago. "What is it? What were you going to say?"

Grace looked away, looked anything but at the man who was taking up most of her personal space. His gaze was piercing, like a laser, and she felt completely naked before him.

"Just leave it, Boyd."

His other hand cupped her other elbow and she found herself powerless under his touch. "Tell me."

Grace sighed, finally giving in. "I was going to say they might not need gentle handling, but I do."

The urge to pull her into his arms was so overwhelming, so powerfully unexpected, that Boyd felt his knees buckle slightly. He felt he needed to say something, but what? He couldn't apologise; after all, he had meant what he had said. Without thinking about it or realising, Boyd started to tug Grace towards him.

"Peter, don't," she said quietly, her voice catching. "Not unless you mean it, and I mean really mean it."

Boyd stopped, running that question through his mind. Did he mean it? Or did he just want to offer some brief comfort? Unfortunately, Grace took his hesitation as a negative answer and quickly tried to leave again.

"Not so fast," Boyd said, moving just as quick. "I didn't want to lie to you, but I don't…I can't…." He ran a hand through his hair. "It just seemed like the right thing to do."

Grace laid a reassuring hand on his forearm. "It was. Thank you for being so thoughtful."

He smiled. "Don't sound so surprised, it does happen on occasion."

"Not often enough."

"I don't want to ruin my reputation."

"Hmm," was all Grace said.

"So…shall we?" Boyd asked, gesturing to the squad room. When Grace nodded, he opened his office door and allowed her out first.

Spencer, Stella and Eve had been chatting quietly, but silence fell like a cosy blanket over the room when the other two entered. "We were just waiting for you," the DI said in a neutral tone.

"You could have carried on and just given us the highlights," Boyd replied.

"The thought crossed our minds," Eve said mildly. "But with the two smartest people missing, our discussions would have been rather boring."

"Oh, flattery will get you everywhere, Eve." Grace laughed.

The scientist smirked. "I thought it might."

Boyd regarded the two women before looking at Stella. "Alright. What have you got for us?"

Everyone rolled their eyes. "Edward Tanner had two sons and a daughter," the DC started. "Both sons were in the army and died during the war, one in 1940 and the other in 1942. His wife died in 1950. His daughter, Sarah, married in 1949 and had two children, a son and a daughter, born 1951 and 1954 respectively. The son, David, then got married in 1979. No children, though. The daughter, Catherine, never married."

"So we have a David and Catherine Tanner…wait, they won't be Tanner, will they?" Boyd asked.

"Actually, they are," Spencer replied. "Sarah divorced her husband in the early 60s and reverted back to her maiden name."

"Do we have addresses for David and Catherine?" Grace asked, and Spencer nodded. She looked at Boyd. "I think we'll need to interview them, along with the rest of the relatives."

Boyd nodded. "See to it afterwards, Grace."

"Next is Albert Smith," Stella said. "He had five children, three daughters and two sons."

Spencer whistled, while Eve murmured, "Busy boy."

Boyd grunted. "Quiet, you two. Names?"

"John, Peter, Elizabeth, Joanne, and Harriet," Stella replied. "Harriet died in 1957, a car accident. Peter died of flu…Spence?"

The DI checked his notes. "1948."

"How old was he?" Grace asked quietly.

"Six."

Boyd shook his head. "What about the other three?"

Spencer looked up. "This is where it gets complicated. John, Elizabeth and Joanne all married and had ten kids between them. The kids are now parents themselves, with…." He glanced down. "Twenty one kids between them."

Boyd groaned and buried his head in his hands while Eve leant across and patted his shoulder. "There there," she said in a smoothing tone.

"I bite," he mumbled in warning through his fingers.

But Eve just raised her eyebrows. "Kinky."

"How many relatives of Smith's do we have to question?" Grace asked, smothering a laugh rather successfully.

Stella made a quick count. "Thirty."

"Shouldn't it be thirty four?" Boyd asked, finally uncovering his face. "Three grandparents, ten parents, twenty one kids."

"Joanne died last year, sir," Stella replied. "One of Elizabeth's daughters had twins who were born prematurely and only lived a few weeks, but their births were recorded anyway. One of John's sons killed himself about six years ago."

Boyd leant back in his chair. "Alright. We don't really need to question everybody, do we?" he asked, looking around the table, and everyone shook their heads. "So…we question John and Elizabeth, if we can, and…. Spence, who's Joanne's eldest?"

"George," the DI replied.

"Then we'll interview him. Have you got last names and addresses?"

"Somewhere."

Boyd nodded. "Give them to Grace. She's better at handling this sort of thing."

"Thank you," Grace murmured dryly. It was a compliment, she knew, but the task of setting up interviews was always tough and, in more cases than not, stressful, which was why Boyd had passed the book to her.

"Next," the DSI said.

Stella checked her notes. "Percy Hammerton. Only had one son, and he died in the first year of the war. His wife, Helen, died in the mid-seventies. Never remarried."

"So that's a dead end," Eve noted, sounding slightly pleased. "At least it narrows down our list of suspects a little."

"A little is better than nothing," Spencer replied. "Next."

"The last one, James Talbot." Stella looked around at the team. "Still nothing on Frank Leiter."

"He is really starting to annoy me," the DI muttered.

Boyd nodded his agreement. "The influential person is a member of the Talbot clan?" he asked.

Stella nodded. "The grandson of James Talbot, Mark. He plays golf with the commissioner once a month."

"You don't get much more influential than that," Eve commented.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

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Mark Talbot was a tall, slim man with jet black hair and a haughty expression. The corner of his lip seemed to be perpetually upturned in a sneer, and Boyd hated him instantly. Grace, of course, had insisted that he sit in on the interview with Mark, while Spencer and Stella handled some of the other relatives, and Eve had offered to take over the paper work, as there was little else for her to do.

"Can't I swap with Spence? Or even Stella?" Boyd whined. He was, Grace noted, extremely good at it and she briefly wondered what he had been like as a child when he didn't get his own way.

"This man plays golf with the commissioner, Boyd," she replied patiently. "If the senior investigating officer isn't present in the interview, he will run straight to the commissioner and complain."

"Grace, if I so much as *look* at that man, he'll complain," Boyd said. "I mean, look at him! Pretentious little tosser."

"You're making snap judgements again." The profiler looked at the man sat in the interview room. "Although he does look like a pompous little arse."

Boyd, unfortunately, was drinking at the time, but luckily he managed to stop the coffee from going over his clothes. The liquid, however, quickly decorated the glass in front of him, and he was certain Mark had heard something of the 'splat' because he looked up briefly before consulting his watch again.

"Please don't do that again," Boyd pleaded with Grace. "And if he does *that* one more time, I might have to snap his hands off at the wrists." He stared through the glass and raised his voice. "It's one minute later than last time you looked!"

"Boyd," Grace said in an exasperated tone. "Please *try* and be patient. Or at least simulate patience. Believe me, I don't like this any more than you do, but just remember who this man is friends with."

Again, there was a note in the profiler's voice that the policeman caught, though he wasn't sure whether it was something he was supposed to notice or not. It was wistful, almost melancholy, and he couldn't help but wonder what other secrets Grace might be hiding. To cover his outbreak of thoughtfulness, Boyd grunted his assent to his friend's previous statement.

"Fine, fine, I'll behave. But if he starts to push…."

"You will *not* push back," Grace told him firmly. "You might be happy to put your own career on the line, and I wouldn't object to taking early retirement, but you can't force Spencer, Stella or Eve into that position just because you can't control your temper. Let's see what he has to say first, alright?"

"Fine," Boyd replied grumpily.

"And if he starts to be completely obnoxious, I'll take your lead off," Grace said with a smile, hoping to mollify him at least a little bit.

It seemed to work. "You are too kind." Boyd straightened and adjusted his jacket. "Alright, let's get this over with." Again, he courteously allowed Grace to go through the doors before him, even waiting until she had sat down in the interview room before sitting himself. "Good afternoon, Mr Talbot. I'm DSI Boyd, this is Doctor Foley."

Mark regarded him with a cool stare, ignoring the polite introductions. "Is it? So far I have missed one very important conference and I've had to reschedule several other meetings with my clients in order to accommodate you. You can be certain that Commissioner Davison will be hearing about this."

"We are fully aware of your…connection to the commissioner, Mr Talbot," Boyd said slowly, plastering a smile onto his face as he put his glasses on and started to consult the notes before you. "There's no need to remind us."

"I think maybe there is," Mark countered, his tone aggressive. "I don't understand why I've been dragged down here in the first place."

"I wasn't aware anyone had dragged you, Mr Talbot," Boyd said, his face creasing in consternation. "I know we extended you the courtesy of coming and talking to us, but as far as I'm aware, you weren't forced."

"I'm well aware of how the game is blamed, Mr Boyd, and if I hadn't agreed to come here, you would have found a way to force me." The man sneered properly. "Or have you forgotten who I play golf with?"

"Not bloody likely," Boyd muttered under his breath.

Mark's eyes hardened, showing he had heard the comment, and Grace moved swiftly to head off a bloody confrontation between the two men. "As you're aware, we're reinvestigating the death of your grandfather and it would help us if…."

Mark barked an incredulous laugh. "What? You're not serious."

Boyd and Grace exchanged a quick glance. "We thought you knew," the profiler said.

Mark leant forwards. "My grandfather was screwed by the police once when they covered up his murder. Why should I trust you to do things properly? You're still police, you all look out for each other."

"And you play golf with the commissioner once a month. Your point?" Boyd asked coolly.

"Why are you dragging up the past like this?" Mark countered, ignoring him. "Don't you people have any respect for others?"

"Didn't you ask us to look into it?" Grace wanted the question voiced as something clearly didn't add up.

"Of course not," Mark scoffed. "I mean, I may have mentioned it to Dennis in passing while we're playing." His expression suddenly changed. "Did he order you to reinvestigate?"

Grace looked at Boyd, who nodded slightly. "It seems that there were a number of deaths in police custody in Hastings station while Chief Superintendent Foyle was there. All were investigated at the time but no foul play was discovered."

"And now, sixty years later, you think you'll be able to prove conclusively whether Foyle was innocent of murder or not?" Mark asked incredulously. "So this is where the taxpayers' money is going to. What a tremendous waste."

"Since you're obviously not thrilled with the idea, Mr Talbot, we can just call everything off. Close up the case and move on to…more important things," Boyd said, sliding his glasses off and collecting the papers on the table together.

Mark's eyes hardened. "I don't think so. You've obviously started, so you might as well continue. After all, you're supposed to provide closure once and for all for victims of unsolved crimes, and I am one of those. So investigate, Mr Boyd, by all means. But I hope to God you come up with the right result."

"I don't take kindly to being threatened," Boyd said in an ominous tone.

"Call it a friendly warning. Believe me, Superintendent, if you were being threatened, you would know about it." Mark stood and nodded curtly to them both. "Mr Boyd, Dr Foley."

"Take a deep breath, Boyd, and count to ten," Grace said to him once Mark had left the room.

"Not long enough," came the reply through gritted teeth.

"A hundred?" She asked, and he shook his head. "A thousand?" Another shake. "Ten thousand? Ten million?"

"I'd be bored by that time." Boyd offered her a terse smile to show he had calmed a fraction as least. "What do you think?"

"I think there's something more going on than we first realised," Grace replied. "He seemed genuinely surprised when we told him about the investigation. I honestly believe he had no idea what we were doing, which means Commissioner Davison thinks *very* highly of him, or…."

"There's another influential person pulling the strings." Boyd pulled a face. "For once, I'd like a simple case."

"You'd be bored with that too."

"Probably, but they say a change is as good as a rest. I hope Spence and Stella have more luck than   
we did."

Grace smiled as she stood. "Let's go and find out, shall we?"

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to be clear, I'm using 'All Clear' as the last episode of Foyle's War as the reference point.

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

Boyd could tell from the looks on his subordinates' faces that things had fared no better with them, but before he and Grace could enter the squad room, he grabbed the profiler's arm gently.

"What…?" Grace started to ask, but Boyd shushed her and nodded towards the doors. Looking through the glass - and trying to ignore how nice it felt to have Boyd's body so close to hers, although disregarding that was proving very difficult - she saw Spencer was absent from the room, and Stella and Eve were talking. Closely, in fact. Actually, *very* closely. In fact….

Boyd watched Grace's eyes widen slightly and a quiet 'oh' escaped her lips. "Is that going to become a problem?" he asked her seriously.

Grace turned to look at him. "Why? Because they're both women?" Her tone had a razor edge to it.

Boyd's returning gaze was steadfast. "No. Because they work together."

"I'm sorry, that was uncalled for," she replied, blushing and ducking her head.

"It doesn't answer my question."

"Would it be a problem if it was us kissing instead of Stella and Eve?"

The words were out and hanging around in the air, waiting to be processed, before Grace had even realised she was *thinking* along those lines, never mind speaking the unknown thought out loud. Unfortunately, Boyd seemed to answer without realising what they were talking about.

"Of course not! Why would it be?"

It was one of those 'deafening silence' moments, and although Boyd's mind was screaming at him to make any number of denials, or to refute the notion as completely absurd, the stupidest of speculations. But he didn't; he *couldn't*. The moment he looked into Grace's eyes, a whole new universe of possibilities opened up for him and he found himself believing things he would never have dreamt possible. But the basic, most glaring fact was that true happiness was actually within his grasp. Literally. And like two opposing magnets, Boyd and Grace found themselves physically moving towards one another, all semblance of thought, rationality and normality thrown straight out of the window.

The sound of heavy footsteps and loudly muttered dark oaths drifted down the corridor and like a fierce fire had suddenly appeared between them, Boyd and Grace sprang apart, both managing to look awkward, guilty and annoyed at the same time. Then Spencer appeared, head down, face black as a thundercloud, grumbling to himself.

"Problem, Spence?" Boyd asked, keeping his tone neutral, although he was certain that at that moment, his DI wouldn't have noticed if something *was* amiss. In fact, he seemed too pissed off to even notice someone else was around.

Grace had been looking unobtrusively into the squad room when Boyd spoke, and while she winced at his overly loud voice, she quickly realised why he had done it. One was to get Spencer's attention, otherwise…. Well, that led to the second reason. Eve and Stella also sprung apart, moving to opposite sides of the desk and attempting to look hard at work; Eve muttered something to Stella, who immediately pulled a tissue out and started wiping her mouth. If it hadn't been for *her* situation, Grace would have found the whole thing amusing; she wondered just how long it would have taken Spencer or Boyd to notice the DC wearing lipstick that was completely the wrong colour for her, but that just happened to match the shade Eve wore perfectly.

Spencer had been striding at such a pace that he almost skidded to a halt, looking up in surprise at Boyd and Grace. "You could say that, sir," he managed to grind out without expletives in answer to his boss' question.

"What happened, Spence?" Grace asked quietly, hoping her presence would have a calming influence on the young man. It usually did; everyone knew she was the white dove of peace, so to speak, within the team.

It worked. Spencer took several deep breaths and with each exhalation, both Boyd and Grace could see him relaxing as he allowed the tension to leave his muscles. "Does the term 'clam routine' mean anything?"

Grace smiled. "Let me guess; we're police, we all stick together, we covered up last time so why should this time be any different?"

Spencer's answering smile was wry. "Yeah, something like that."

"Did you get anything at all?" Boyd asked.

The DI shook his head. "Nothing of use, sir. You?"

"Maybe," Grace replied, heading down the steps and into the squad room.

"Any luck?" Eve asked, her tone far too light and cheerful considering the situation.

Boyd gave Grace a sideways look, his eyes sparkling slightly with mischief. Then he fixed his attention on Eve. "No, *we* didn't get lucky."

Eve simply stared back, her mouth hanging open slightly, while Stella blushed a magnificent shade of crimson and retreated to the coffee machine. Spencer knew he was missing something, but really didn't want to know what.

"All the people we interviewed were as silent as corpses," the DI said, dropping into his chair. "The only one who might have been able to help us was Albert Smith's daughter, Joanne…who died last year!"

Boyd grunted. "Typical."

"What about you two?"

"Mark Talbot is a smarmy bastard who thinks he owns the world and everyone in it," Grace replied before Boyd could. "But he did tell us he wasn't the one who asked for this investigation."

Stella turned sharply. "Really?"

Grace nodded. "All he told us was that he may have mentioned what happened to his grandfather while playing golf with the commissioner…."

"And he *kept* reminding us," Boyd muttered darkly.

"…But he never asked to have James' death reinvestigated." Grace smiled tightly. "Mark doesn't like the police and he doesn't trust us to do a proper job this time around."

"Great, so we can move then, right?" Spencer asked, grinning.

Boyd shook his head. "Mr I-Play-Golf-With-The-Bloody-Commissioner wants us to carry on with the case. I think he's doing it out of spite more than anything."

"Do we have to listen to him, sir?" Stella asked, handing the DSI a mug before going round the rest of the team.

"Unfortunately, yes." The words were ground out through gritted teeth. "And he made it clear that unless we find Foyle guilty…." Boyd left the sentence hanging.

Amusingly enough, the rest of the team looked to Grace for confirmation. They knew Boyd was prone to exaggerating at times, but from the expression on the profiler's face, this was not one of them.

"Did you find anything that'll give us the jumpstart we need on this case?" Grace asked Eve.

The pathologist smiled. "Yes, actually, I did. Well, I found some things out, I don't know if they'll help or not. I leave the detective work to you."

Boyd looked into his cup. "There's alcohol in this, right?" he asked Stella, who grinned back at him. "Good work."

Grace rolled her eyes. "Go on, Eve."

"It's nothing earth-shattering," she warned them. "But when World War II ended, there is no record of Foyle and Milner ever speaking again. I know, I know, the chances of finding a paper trail now would be next to impossible, but I was thinking that there might have been some record of a meeting. Nothing."

"Well, it's another avenue exhausted," Spencer said, trying to look on the bright side.

Eve smiled at him. "So I started tryin to track down the relatives of Foyle and Milner, and of Sam Stewart as well."

"Good thinking," Boyd said warmly. "Are you sure you don't want to change career?"

"Grace? Are you alright?" Stella asked, worry etched into her expression.

Everyone turned to look at the profiler, who had turned a pale shade of white. "Yes. Yes, I'm fine. I just need…some air." She stood shakily, took two steps, and collapsed.

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

As soon as Grace began to reach a state of awareness again, she knew she had been moved. Whatever she was lying on was far too soft to be the floor in the squad room, and then she remembered the last thing she had felt before blacking out; strong arms catching her and the faint smell of Boyd's aftershave.

"Grace? Can you hear me?"

Slightly rough fingers brushed her cheek with a tenderness that made her heart ache and without meaning to, she screwed her eyes up a little.

"So you are awake."

Sighing, Grace opened her eyes. "Yes, I am."

Boyd's face was extremely close, but whether it was too close for comfort, Grace couldn't decide. Her heart was beating far too loudly, drowning out any thoughts in her head. Boyd looked worried, panicked almost, and then he smiled.

"So, Dr Foley, was that real or were you faking it?"

"Why would I fake fainting?" Grace asked irritably, trying to sit up.

"To get sent home sick from work, to get me to carry you…well, anywhere," Boyd replied, slipping an arm around her back to help her.

Grace stopped moving and stared at him, noticing flecks of black in his dark eyes she had never seen before. "What?"

Boyd stopped as well and stared back. "What?" he asked, obviously confused.

*'Doesn't take a lot'.* "You carried me?" Grace said in surprise. "From the squad room to your office?"

"No."

"Oh." For some reason, Grace found herself disappointed.

"I carried you from the squad room to *your* office," he finished with a smile.

Grace felt a little foolish having not realised she was in her own room, and to cover that surprise, she instinctively reached out and laid her palm against his bearded cheek. "Oh, Boyd."

Boyd's eyes widened, not so much in fear as astonishment, and the profiler thought she had misunderstood their encounter before. But when she made to move her hand, Boyd quickly covered it with his own.

"You know I'm not good with…this," he said quietly. "But whatever *this*," he gestured between them, "Is, it isn't…a whim, or a fancy, or any other bloody word you want to think of." Grace smiled. "I don't know what it is, but…I'm willing to try and find out. You know I can't promise you I won't hurt you. I can try not to, but this is me, after all."

His words were spoken with a certain amount of self-loathing and Grace knew why. Boyd was an angry man most of the time, and most people thought that while he was justified in his frustrations, he carried the whole thing too far. But Grace knew him better than that. She knew he had been shaped by his job, his home life, his own perception of what everyone else thought he should be, but underneath his gruff, almost uncaring exterior, there was a soft gentle man. All Grace had to do was let Boyd know it was okay to show that side of him. So she did the only thing that came to mind; she leant forward and kissed him.

"Sir, we've…." Stella stopped in the doorway. "Oh. Sorry. I'll…just…." She gestured back to the squad room, though she knew neither Grace nor Boyd was paying any attention to her, and quickly retreated, her face flaming.

Grace was smiling ruefully as she reluctantly pulled away from Boyd. "Typical."

"Can I yell at her for interrupting?" Boyd asked, only half-serious.

Before Grace could reply, they could hear some commotion outside. Someone had obviously asked Stella what was wrong, and she had told them…once she had regained the use of speech again. Spencer's response could have been heard throughout the building.

"WHAT? Is it only me who isn't getting any?" he demanded in a loud voice.

"You can always join us," Eve suggested in her most sultry voice.

Unfortunately, Grace and Boyd returned to the squad room at that moment in time, and Boyd summarily clapped his hands over his ears, made a loud 'Aahh!' noise and strode into his office, slamming the door.

"Don't worry, he'll be back out in a minute. Was there something you wanted, Stella, or were you sent in on a bet?" Grace asked.

If possible, Stella blushed even harder. "I came in for a reason, but it wasn't that important. I just wanted to tell you we've put all the information that Eve found on the board, and to see if you were ready to rejoin us."

Grace could feel herself growing light-headed again but she pushed the feeling away, keeping her mind firmly on the brief kiss she and Boyd had just shared. For some reason, it helped. "Great. But I think we'd better wait for Boyd until we go through it."

"I'm here," he said, his deep voice rumbling around the room.

As Boyd sat down, Eve leant over to Grace. "Are you sure you're alright?" she asked in a quiet voice.

For a moment, Grace was tempted to say no, but then how would she explain why she wasn't? And while she hated lying to her colleagues, and friends, it was the only option. "I'm fine," she replied, managing a smile as well. It must have been convincing because Eve nodded and turned away.

Boyd looked over his shoulder at the scientist. "Do you want to talk us through this? After all, you did the work."

"Not really," Eve replied.

"Why? You have something better to do?" Boyd asked, then, when the scientist's eyes drifted to Stella, followed it quickly with, "Never mind, forget I said anything. Just…explain what you found, okay?"

"As you command, Oh Glorious Leader." Before Boyd could retort, Eve stood up. "Right, starting from when the war ended, I've managed to track some of the movements of DCSI Foyle, his son Andrew, DS Milner, and Sam Stewart. If I repeat something we already know, I apologise. I'm just trying to give you a full picture. So, Milner is the easiest one. Joined the police force before the war broke out, became a soldier when it did, lost his leg in Trondheim and was discharged. DCSI Foyle convinced him to rejoin the force and Milner ended up as Foyle's second in command. His first wife, Jane, left him and was later killed. Milner married again, a woman named Edith, and the same time the war ended, Edith gave birth to a girl, named Clementine. Milner was promoted to Detective Inspector and moved to Brighton when Hastings police station was closed." Eve looked over at Grace. "I hope you don't mind, but I borrowed the notes you had made so far to check what I had was correct. They're quite detailed. If only we had that kind of information on the mysterious Mr Leiter."

Grace managed a smile while Boyd quickly diverted the conversation away from a place where she might have to answer some awkward questions. "Okay, so we have Milner's history. What about his daughter, Clementine?"

"Only daughter," Eve continued. "Married quite late, 1977, and had one son, Paul, in 1981."

"Named for her father, I guess," Spencer said.

Eve nodded. "Clementine is still alive, but apparently she's deaf in both ears. Paul helps his father, Edward, look after her."

"So we can't question Clementine really," Stella said. "What about Paul? Or Edward?"

"It's worth a try. If they can give us more information on Foyle, Grace can build a more solid character profile that will help us determine whether he is or isn't guilty," Boyd replied.

"Breathe, Boyd," Grace reminded him.

He resisted sticking his tongue out at her. "What about Milner himself?"

"Retired from the police force in '71 due to health reasons, died in '79," Eve said.

"And his wife?"

"Died '86."

"Alright." Boyd stretched. "Who's next?"

"Sam Stewart." Eve frowned. "This is where things start to get complicated."

"Great," Spencer said sarcastically. "Because they were so simple before."

Eve ignored him. "We know she stayed in Hastings after the war, and there's a hint that she entered into a relationship with Foyle."

"What?" Grace asked sharply.

"Sorry, Andrew Foyle," Eve clarified. "This is confusing, using last names."

"I don't find it difficult," Boyd said mildly.

Eve didn't bother resisting; she *did* stick her tongue out. "Anyway, Sam and Andrew 'walked out' for a brief time during the war, but it didn't last. However, when the war ended, it seems they took up a relationship again."

Stella looked at Eve. "Seems?"

The pathologist nodded. "This is the problem - I can't find anything to say whether Sam or Andrew got married or not. I think I found a marriage certificate for Andrew Foyle, but the record was so badly damaged the names weren't clear at all."

"Damaged?" Spencer asked.

"Water." Eve pulled a face. "Apparently the roof of the records office where everything was kept was leaking and no one noticed until it was almost too late."

Boyd snorted. "Typical. I take it you haven't found any record of a death for Samantha Stewart?"

Eve shook her head. "And of course because I can't find a record of her getting married…." She spread her hands.

"What about Christopher Foyle?" Grace asked.

"Again, all records for Foyle seemed to be in the same part of the records office," Eve replied.

"You know, if I didn't know better, I'd say it had been done on purpose," Spencer stated dryly.

"Do you want to investigate a leaking roof as well as everything else we have to do?" Stella asked him.

Spencer grinned. "No, I'd delegate that job to you."

"Alright. Let's arrange to go and see Edward and Paul…Eve, what are their last names?" Boyd asked the pathologist.

"Hill."

"Alright, let's go and see Edward and Paul Hill, see if they can give us anything else on DCSI Foyle," Boyd said. "Let's go over what we already have and see if there is some sort of link, *anything* that will help us. And someone find something on Frank bloody Leiter!"

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

Boyd looked up as someone knocked on his door. "Mr Hill can see you today, sir," Stella told him.

"What time?"

"Whenever is convenient for you," Stella replied. "He said he'd be in all day."

"Great." Boyd looked at his watch and then at the non-existent paperwork on his desk. For some reason, he missed it. Probably because it gave him an excuse to slack off. "Tell Grace, will you? And tell her to be ready to go in about twenty minutes."

Stella nodded. "Okay."

"Yes?" Grace said as someone knocked on her door.

"Only me," Stella replied. "Mr Hill will see you and Boyd today. Boyd said to be ready in twenty minutes."

The doors to both Boyd and Grace's offices were open and Boyd happened to be looking across at the time, allowing him to see the profiler's expression when the DC delivered the message. Grace looked panicked, angry, and frightened all at the same time. Boyd didn't know how she managed it; he had enough trouble showing one emotion, let alone three simultaneously.

"Who asked you to arrange that?" Grace asked sharply, causing Stella to recoil in surprise.

Moving swiftly, Boyd grabbed the receiver of the phone on his desk and pressed the speed dial number for the profiler's office. "I did," he replied after she had answered.

Grace flushed, embarrassed that Boyd had heard her question, but also guilty because if he had heard it, so had Spencer and Eve out in the squad room. "Is there something wrong with your legs, Boyd?" Grace asked.

Boyd sighed and counted to ten, then did it again for good measure. "No. Just…lay off the subordinates. Laying into them is my job." He put the phone down and counted to ten again.

Grace cradled the received for a moment before replacing it and swallowing. "I'm sorry, Stella, that was very Boyd of me." That she deliberately said loud enough, and true to form, the man himself appeared in her doorway less than a minute later.

"I'll just…." Stella pointed to the squad room and made her exit.

Boyd and Grace stared at each other for a moment while the others outside waited for the inevitable explosion. "Are you ready?" he asked mildly.

"Give me a moment, please," she replied, equally as mildly.

"I think I prefer it when they're shouting at each other," Spencer muttered, and for once, the other two just nodded in agreement.

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

The journey to the Hill residence was spent in silence as Grace tried to ignore her feelings of remorse over her actions, and her lies, and Boyd tried to work out what was wrong with her. He was also trying to re-categorise their relationship. They had shared a kiss, and with that kiss, feelings had been shared as well. It wasn't just a brief something, but Boyd knew it was definitely *something*. Of course, asking Grace what they were doing would only end up with her shouting at him, and he knew that was going to happen sooner rather than later, but it would have nothing to do with their relationship and everything to do with the case.

When they finally stopped, Grace immediately got ou of the car but Boyd remained where he was. Grace was halfway up the path before she realised he wasn't behind her, and she turned back.

"Aren't you coming?" she asked.

"No, I thought I'd just sit here and mediate," Boyd replied.

Grace blinked, then walked back to the car. "Is something wrong?"

"You know, I could ask you the exact same damn question," he said, staring at her.

His tone was soft, despite his words, and Grace found herself crumbling. But as she opened her mouth to speak, ready to spill her darkest secrets, the front door of the house behind her opened.

"Are you here to see us?" a young man asked, and Boyd could have killed him on the spot. As he watched, Grace's defences went back up and she retreated behind them. Boyd sighed, got out of the car, and followed her up the path.

"Yes, we are," she replied with a smile. "You must be Paul Hill."

"I am. You must be Dr Foley, and this must be DSI Boyd," Paul said. He was tall, with dark hair and intelligent eyes, and was softly spoken. Upon seeing him closely, Grace felt a serious pang.

Boyd found himself immediately, unexpectedly, taking to the young man. "I hope we're not disturbing you," the DSI said.

Paul smiled and shook his head. "No, not at all. Please, come in."

Boyd was in an ideal position to watch Grace carefully, and while she normally knew when he was staring at her, now she had no idea, and that only confirmed Boyd's nagging suspicion that something was seriously wrong. He had seen how Grace had looked at Paul, almost in recognition, and he began to form a worrying hypothesis, an idea that gained merit when they met Edward and Clementine Hill. While Clementine was deaf, there was nothing wrong with her sight, and her eyes widened dramatically when she saw Grace. Edward also seemed to recognise her, but just as he opened his mouth to speak, Grace interrupted him.

"Mr Hill, thank you for seeing us on such short notice. I'm Dr Grace Foley and this is Detective Superintendent Boyd," the profiler said, a little too quickly to be casual, but Boyd decided now was not the time to make an issue of whatever was going on.

Edward seemed startled by her swift introduction, but was intelligent enough to realise Grace had her reasons. "The young woman who phoned said it was a matter of some urgency," he replied, gesturing for them to sit.

Grace looked at Boyd, and Edward had the feeling the DSI was the reason the doctor was being cagey. "We're reinvestigating a series of deaths from…well, from the 1940s."

Edward blinked. "Pardon?"

Paul appeared in the doorway. "Do you need me for anything, Dad?" he asked. "Only I've got some studying to finish."

"No, it's fine, Paul. Thanks," Edward replied. "I'll shout you if I need anything."

Paul nodded, then looked at Grace and Boyd, inclined his head to them both, and finally smiled and winked at his mother before blowing her a kiss. "He seems like a good young man," Boyd noted.

Edward smiled. "He is. We couldn't have wished for a better son. Now, how can we help you? You said something about reinvestigating deaths from over sixty years ago."

"We deal with cold cases, cases that haven't been solved or whose results are deemed unsound," Grace explained. "During the Second World War, there were five suspicious deaths in a Hastings police station, and we've been asked to reinvestigate."

For a long time, an uncomfortable silence hung in the air. Clementine, whose eyes had never left Grace, turned to her husband and mumbled something while making some obscure gestures. They didn't mean much to either Boyd or Grace, but Edward seemed to understand what they meant.

"You want to know about my father-in-law, Paul Milner, I take it?" he asked.

Boyd nodded. "And his superior at the time, DCSI Christopher Foyle."

Edward looked surprised. "Christopher Foyle?" he repeated.

"Did you know him?" Grace asked, though her tone of voice suggested she already knew the answer.

Edward shook his head. "No, I never met him, but Paul senior talked about him quite a lot. He held Mr Foyle in very high regard. They were almost like father and son."

"Did you ever meet Andrew Foyle?" Boyd asked suddenly. "DCSI Foyle's son?"

"No, not that I recall."

"What about Sam Stewart?"

"No, sorry. I don't think Paul saw the others after the war ended," Edward replied. Then his eyes narrowed slightly and he looked thoughtful. "You're here because you suspect that either my father-in-law or Mr Foyle was involved with these deaths. Or quite possibly you suspect both. After all, you believe that they would have stuck together and looked out for each other, yes?"

"Yes," Grace replied honestly.

Edward shook his head. "You're wrong. Paul was once accused of murdering his first wife, but Mr Foyle helped to prove his innocence. But along the way, if Foyle had found evidence to suggest Paul was guilty, he would have presented it the same way as evidence to show he was innocent." Edward sighed. "I can't give you the answers you want, I'm afraid. I only knew Foyle through stories Paul would tell us, but he doesn't seem like the kind of man to kill people on a whim. I can tell you, though, that Paul senior was a kind, intelligent, decent man who had received the raw end of life. It made him resentful sometimes and angry on occasion, but again, there would have to be a damn good reason for him to commit murder." Just then, Clementine started to make frantic noises. "I'm sorry, I'll have to ask you leave," Edward said. "This has upset my wife very much."

Grace stood. "Of course, we understand. We're sorry to have bothered you."

"If we have any more questions, can we call again?" Boyd asked.

"Yes, just ring first, please," Edward replied somewhat absently.

Boyd nodded. "Thank you."

Paul junior was waiting out in the hall for them. "Is there anything I can help you with?" he asked.

Grace smiled and shook her head. "No, thank you. You're a little too young, I'm afraid."

Boyd suddenly stopped. "I thought your mother was deaf." He managed to make it sound like an accusation.

"She is," Paul replied calmly.

"Then how did she know what we were talking about?"

"She can lip read."

Boyd suddenly felt very foolish. "Oh. Right. Of course. Well, anyway, thank you for your time."

Grace smiled at the young man as she left the house. "Thank you."

They set off driving in silence, no closer to an answer than they had been before, and both were feeling the strain keenly. But before they had gone very far, Boyd pulled over and killed the engine.

"All right, Grace. We're not going any further until you tell me what's going on."

Grace blinked in surprise. "Pardon?"

"You and this case. There's more going on than what you've told me." Boyd smiled wryly. "I'm not stupid, you know."

"I never thought you were particularly," she replied softly.

He ran a hand through his hair. "Look, every time we start talking about Foyle or the others, you act…strange. And the Hill family…you know Clementine and Edward, don't you? They both recognised you, I saw it on their faces. And Paul, he looks like his grandfather. You knew Milner as well, didn't you." Boyd had stopped asking questions, making statements instead, so Grace didn't feel they needed answering. "You can't keep hiding the truth. We *will* find out eventually."

"There's nothing…," she started to say in a poor attempt at deflecting him, but it didn't work.

"Grace, please."

She sighed. So rarely did he ask so nicely, and she knew she couldn't refuse him an answer, consequences be damned. "Christopher Foyle was my grandfather."

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

Boyd simply stared at Grace, not quite believing his ears. At that moment, he really was the definition of dumbstruck, and Grace actually thought he looked quite cute, but would never, not even under pain of death, say such a thing out loud. It wasn't his reputation she was worried about; it was hers.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he demanded to know eventually.

Grace just stared at him as if he'd asked the stupidest question ever. "Why do you think, Boyd?" she replied in exasperation.

He still stared. "The worst that would have happened would you'd have been taken off the case. But I don't…."

"Imagine someone walking up to you and telling you, out of the blue, that someone in your family, someone who you were particularly close to, was going to be investigated for not just one, but several murders," Grace blurted out. "How the hell would you feel?"

"But why didn't you tell me?" Boyd asked again after a few minutes of silence. "I thought…well…I thought our…relationship had changed."

"It was one kiss, Boyd."

She regretted the words the instant she started to speak them but it was too late now. Hurt like nothing Grace had ever seen before flashed across Boyd's handsome face and she was astonished how much she actually did mean to him.

"So that's it? It was just a kiss, nothing more?"

"I didn't mean…."

Boyd smiled gently, though it looked a little strained, and leant over, covering her hands with one of his. "It's okay. This must be difficult for you," he said, shocking her.

"Boyd, are you feeling alright?" Grace asked warily.

"Fine." Then he grinned. "Don't worry, Grace, I'll make up for it when we get back to the office. I'll spend the rest of the day slamming doors and shouting at everyone for no good reason. But right now…I thought I'd try something different."

Grace smiled in appreciation. "It's working."

"It's also bloody hard work, so can you hurry up and feel better?"

She laughed. "Alright, you win. I didn't tell you because once we'd started the investigation, I didn't want to be removed from it. I *know* Christopher is innocent, so I wanted to find out who had brought these accusations against him. But it could also damage my career if Christopher is found to be guilty because my connection with him is bound to come out. And if that happens, the whole of the unit could suffer. Each of our cases could be reviewed and looked at and turned inside out to see if I did my job properly or not…."

"That's my problem to worry about, not yours," Boyd interrupted. "Whatever repercussions the team might suffer, the ultimate blame lies with me because I'm the boss." He ran his free hand through his hair. "Christ, Grace, why didn't you tell me? You *should* have told me. You didn't have to go through this alone. And before you even think it, I won't tell anyone else; I'll leave that to you. And I'm not going to take you off this investigation now. Your forensic profiling isn't much use to it anyway."

Grace smiled wryly. "I bet you've been waiting to say that for years."

He smiled back. "A fair while, yes. Look, we've been given an impossible task as it is. Your…involvement, such as it is, doesn't make any difference to the case; it doesn't make it harder or easier to solve. Besides, I respect you enough to know that if there was a problem with Foyle - or Milner or Andrew or Sam - you would say so, regardless of whether they were family or not. After all, you pull me up on my shortcomings all the time."

"That's because there are just so many to choose from," Grace replied, enjoying the new and improved Boyd. It was a surprise, though she always knew he had a softer side that just needed tapping into, and it seemed she had done just that. It wouldn't last, Grace knew; it *couldn't.* Boyd might have a softer side, but it was miniscule compared to the size of his temper.

"You see, *this* is why I don't like psychologists," Boyd retorted, his tone serious, but the squeeze he gave Grace's hand took the edge off his words.

"So," Grace said in a weary and slightly melancholy tone, "What do we do now?"

"I need to ask you some questions."

"Of course."

"Andrew Foyle was your father, not your godfather," Boyd said, and Grace simply nodded. "And…Sam Stewart? Your mother?"

The smile that spread across Grace's face was gentle and lit up the confines of the car. "Yes. She was…an extraordinary woman." The profiler laughed. "But I would say that, wouldn't I?"

"You loved her very much," Boyd stated gently.

Grace nodded again. "She had so much passion for life, so much enthusiasm for everything. It was infectious. Sometimes my father had a hard time keeping up with her." She laughed again. "Sometimes, so did I."

Boyd was silent for a long time. "Grace, I have to ask this…."

"Was I ever aware of some dark secret looming in Christopher's past?" She sighed. "No. We were a remarkably honest family. There were no secrets on my parents' part; they told me everything. The war had taught them that nothing lasts and sometimes those truths were hard to understand, it helped us to become a strong family unit."

"Actually, that's not what I was going to ask." He paused, and Grace could see the question was difficult for him. "Grace, are you telling me the truth this time? Only…." Even someone like Boyd couldn't bring himself to say the words.

She quickly avoided his gaze. "I know, and I'm sorry. It was inexcusable to lie, but…. Well, I'm not the only one, Boyd. You've done the same yourself on more than one occasion." Grace held her hands up, noting Boyd's seemed to be stuck to them. "I'm not accusing or mud-slinging, I'm just saying."

"I know, but we've never had to investigate my family," Boyd replied.

"True." She sighed again. "Boyd, what are we going to do now? And don't argue with me; you know you're going to have to take me off the case."

"No, I don't," he disagreed.

"Boyd, you *have* to."  
He held her gaze firmly. "No, this is what I *have* to do." And with that, he leant forward and kissed her.

"You really should take me off the case," Grace whispered after they had parted, resting her forehead against Boyd's, her hands - which she had finally prised from his - holding his face tenderly.

"Why?" he asked. "If you're telling the truth, then there isn't a problem."

Grace sighed. "I know, I know. It's just…."

"Weird," Boyd replied, then shrugged and smiled. "We'll manage." He started the car moving, then stopped again before they had travelled a foot. "What are the chances of Eve finding out the connection between you and Foyle?"

"I don't know," Grace said, spreading her hands helplessly. "Since no one else has made the connection, I suppose it's relatively safe to assume Eve won't work it out either."

"Did you change your name?" Boyd asked as they started driving again.

Grace shook her head. "My mother did, and no, I don't know why. Actually, my mother changed her name before I was born, so I have never been a Foyle. Maybe that's why no one's made the connection."

"Well, it's another piece of the puzzle but it still doesn't get us anywhere." Boyd sighed noisily in frustration. "Come on, let's get back to the office. I feel the strong urge to yell at someone."

"I'll warn them," Grace said, taking her mobile out.

"Don't you bloody well dare!" Boyd replied loudly, making a blind grab for the phone.

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

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"How did it go?" Spencer asked when Grace and Boyd walked into the squad room, but then he held his hand up. "Hang on, let me guess. They didn't tell you anything that would help us with our inquiry."

"You're a mind reader, Spence," Grace replied dryly before disappearing into her office.

"It's a gift."

"Except that they doubt very much Foyle was capable of murder," Boyd added, coming out of his office.

Eve, who had been lurking in the corner, came out of the shadows, a pensive expression on her face. "Look, someone has to say it and it might as well be me. We're going nowhere with this case, and despite the threats of someone who would be more at home in the school playground than the real world, you should tell the DAC that there isn't enough evidence to go on." She stared at Boyd as she spoke.

Boyd stared right back. "And you're looking at me…why?" he asked innocently.

"Boyd," Eve whined, in a fair interpretation of him.

"Eve," he whined right back.

Grace ground out an 'Oh my God' in despair before burying her head in her hands. After a few seconds, the rather pathetic muttering of, "Save me," could be heard from behind the fingers.

"Your fault," Eve said to Boyd.

"Yours," Boyd replied.

Stella looked at Spencer, her expression somewhat bewildered. "Have I stepped into an alternate universe or something?" she asked. "Are they going to be singing next?"

Spencer shrugged. "Don't know." His tone suggested he wasn't really bothered, either. It was, after all, a nice reprieve from the almost constant yelling and general grumpiness.

Boyd and Eve decided to take pity on their team mates and called a truce with a single nod each. "Alright," the DSI said, beginning to pace slowly. "No case is unsolvable, we've already proved that many times, right?"

Spencer nodded in agreement. "Right."

"So this case has to be solvable. Either Foyle's innocent or he's guilty, it's as simple as that. And if he *is* guilty, we have to discover of what. Is it murder? Or is he an accomplice? If he isn't guilty, then we've got to find out who might be. Were those men murdered or did they really die of natural causes? If it's the former, we need to draw up a list of suspects. If it's the latter, we need to find out who would want us to reinvestigate this and why." Boyd looked around. "Any questions? Comments? Suggestions?"

"Why are you being so nice, boss?" Spencer asked eventually.

"Because the minute you say something, I can yell," Boyd replied.

"In that case…." The DI looked over at Stella.

"Why me?" she asked indignantly.

"Because you're the junior officer in the office, and because I'm delegating." Spencer grinned.

Eve held her hand up. "I'll speak and get yelled at, it's fine. I suggest we take all of this down…." She gestured to the board. "…Put it somewhere safe and start fresh. Look at past associations. There could be something between Tanner and Smith; both were arrested for theft, and in a small area like that, it's entirely possible they belonged to the same gang."

Boyd nodded in agreement. "Let's look into that. Let's also try and find out who actually ordered this investigation, but try to do it discreetly."

"I'll do it," Stella offered.

"Good idea," Grace replied, having finally reappeared from behind her hands.

"We still haven't managed to find any of Foyle's relatives," Spencer said.

"That's not important for now," Boyd replied. "I'm sure they'll turn up eventually. Let's try and find something, *anything*, on Leiter. That guy's starting to piss me off."

Eve was staring at the board. "He changed his name," she muttered to herself.

Stella leant forward. "What was that?"

"Leiter was too young to have children, right?" the pathologist said, turning. "But he must have had brothers or sisters. We can trace him through them."

"Great," Spencer replied. "Only one tiny problem - we don't know his name."

"Someone changed it. If there's no information on Leiter, it's because he doesn't exist as Leiter," Eve told them. "So Frank Leiter is someone else, someone changed his name."

Spencer's expression grew more sarcastic. "That's even better. Now he really could be *anyone*."

"Not really." Stella rummaged through the papers on her desk and pulled out a sheet. "The American Embassy sent us this information. It's a list of men between seventeen and twenty who disappeared towards the end of the war. Some could have been deserters, but the Embassy marked those for us."

"So all we have to do is go through the list and see if a likely candidate pops up," Grace said, nodding.

Boyd smiled. "That's great."

"I'll look into a link between Tanner and Smith," Spencer volunteered. "Even if the family doesn't want to talk, there's got to be someone with some kind of information on them out there."

"I'll try and find some contacts for the Foyle family," Grace said. She glanced sideways at Boyd, who nodded slightly, but the exchange was caught by Eve, who frowned a little. Something was going on, but she was damned if she knew what.

"What do you want me to do?" the pathologist asked.

"Help Stella." Boyd looked at the DC. "How many names are there? Just the one sheet, right?"

Stella shook her head. "That was the first sheet." She held up several more, all filled with names. "The Embassy sent over the name of every male who had disappeared over about three or four years, sir. And America is a big country."

Boyd grimaced. "You know, I noticed the same thing myself." Then he sighed and held his hand out. "Right, you, me, and Eve will work on these. Grace, Foyle. Spencer, links between the deceased. Yell if you find anything!"

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A persevering kind of silence had settled over CCHQ. Boyd and Grace had both left the doors to their offices open and both were sat on their couches, glasses perched on their noses as they worked through lists, contacts and ideas. The other three crowded around the desks out in the squad room, occasionally moving to pass a sheet of paper along, a pen, or a mug of coffee. Even their breathing seemed quieter. It was like they *knew* the key to unlocking the mystery of the case was within their grasp…if only they could work out which direction they were grasping in.

The hours ticked away and it soon became clear an all-nighter was on the cards. Food was ordered in, coffee was drunk by the gallons, and still nothing. Finally, in the early hours of the morning, Boyd called a halt to their efforts.

"We're not getting anywhere," he said wearily. "Let's call it a day and start again in a few hours."

"What time do you want us in, boss?" Spencer asked, stifling a yawn.

Boyd glanced at his watch, blinking several times before he could see it clearly. "Let's say ten, latest."

Before he could say anything else, or change his mind, the three younger members of the team had disappeared from the room, almost as if the *Enterprise* was waiting above to beam them up.

"I think you just earned some brownie points," Grace said in a warm tone, unsuccessfully stifling a loud yawn.

"I don't really care," Boyd replied tiredly. "It doesn't do any of us any good to be half dead, not on this investigation. Come on, I'll drive you home."

Her reply was indignant. "I'm quite capable of driving myself."

"I know. And if you fall asleep at the wheel, which looks incredibly likely, you'll cause a major accident, and that'll just cause more trouble for us than we need right now. So you can either stand there and argue with me about it for the next half an hour, which will make us both more tired, or you can just agree and then we can both get half an hour's extra sleep."

Grace just held her hands up. "Fine, fine, but don't expect me to bring breakfast in the morning."

TBC


	13. Chapter 13

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Boyd was more than a little surprised to find Grace waiting outside her house for him the next morning. His surprise grew, along with his chagrin, when he saw she looked far more rested than he did (how dare she, especially after all the secrets she was keeping!) and that she had actually sprung for breakfast. Or at least made enough bacon and egg sarnies to sink a ship. Whatever the reasons for her doing that, Boyd wasn't stupid enough to complain. Though when she slapped his hand away from the bag after she climbed into the car, he felt he had to say something.

"I've had four hours sleep, only one cup of coffee, and I'm starving!" he complained.

Grace looked at him. "And you need both hands to drive, so you can wait until we get to the office."

"I only need one hand, and no, I can't."

"You're being a grouch and we haven't even got to work yet," Grace told him in an amused tone.

"And you're far too bloody cheerful. Why?" Boyd asked.

Grace sighed. "You're never going to change, Boyd, are you?" Her tone was part exasperation, part fondness, and part something he couldn't quite put his finger on.

"What have I done now? And would you want me to change?"

"Occasionally, it would be nice."

The words were quietly spoken, but Boyd heard them nonetheless. "Grace, I talk without thinking, you know that. I get angry a lot and I take everything far too seriously, and probably far too personally as well. And I know I miss a lot of things that are glaring me right in the face, but…it's the way I am."

Boyd started a little when he felt a hand on his arm. "I know, Peter. I know."

"So…you brought breakfast because you miss being married or miss being a mother?" he asked.

Grace could only stare, his sudden insightful question startling her. Then she laughed; if Boyd was good at one thing, it was surprising her, either for good or bad. "Both, I suppose. With the kids all grown up and living so far away…. It's what you get used to."

Boyd smiled. "You know you can mother the team any time you feel like it," he replied. "Although you tend to do that anyway."

"I do not," she objected.

"Really? Next time you do it, I'll get Spence to point it out to you, shall I?"

Grace smiled. "He isn't brave enough."

"Or stupid enough," Boyd agreed. "So Eve can do it."

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Bought breakfasts were quickly put to one side when Grace arrived with homemade efforts, and for once, the silence in the squad room was one of blissful eating, instead of stressful thoughtfulness.

"Alright, new day, new look at everything," Boyd said, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "Spence, Grace, I want you two to work on trying to find any links between the deceased, however tenuous. Eve, you, me and Stella can work on trying to find Mr Leiter."

"No offence, Boyd, but wouldn't it be better if you helped Spence?" Grace asked.

"Why?"

"Frank Leiter is a puzzle, and you know how much I adore crosswords. Eve has a naturally talent for this sort of thing, given her job, and Stella…." Grace smiled. "Stella finishes the crossword when I get fed up of doing it, though she thinks I don't notice."

The Frenchwoman blushed as Spencer said, in a somewhat sarcastic voice, "So it has nothing to do with grouping boys and girls together?"

"Well, there is that about it as well," Grace replied sweetly.

Boyd held his hands up. "Fine. You and I will work on that link. Ladies, Frank Leiter." Then he grinned. "Loser buys all the drinks tonight in the pub."

There was a sudden frenzy of activity as the women all moved into Grace's office, and the two men spread their papers out over the desks in the squad room. The separation didn't last long, though; after about half an hour, Grace drifted back in and took a seat as close to Boyd as possible without invading his personal space. Eve and Stella followed, but quite a while later; no one bothered to ask what had taken so long because frankly, they didn't want to know.

"Spence, Tanner and Smith were both under arrest for theft at the time of their death, weren't they?" Boyd asked quietly.

The DI looked up at the board. "Yeah."

"I think there's a link between them and Hammerton."

Spencer looked up and stretched. "How so?"

Boyd sat back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. "I think I've found the criminal record for Percy Hammerton."

"Think?" Grace asked, also looking up.

"There are two, with only a year difference in age, so assuming the information we've been given is correct…."

The profiler nodded. "I understand. So, what did he have a record for?"

"You name it, he was into it," Boyd replied. "Fencing stolen goods, extortion, racketeering, blackmail, even arson."

Spencer whistled. "Busy boy."

Boyd nodded. "But he was clever. There was never anything to actually charge him with. The closest the police got was when Foyle arrested him."

"And then he died," Eve said. "A little convenient, wouldn't you say?"

"I don't think a heart attack is exactly convenient," Stella replied.

Spencer was busy at his computer. "I think I might be able to get hold of medical records for Hammerton, see if heart attacks run in the family or something."

"Good thinking." Boyd was now staring at the ceiling thoughtfully. "What were the names of the two officers present when Hammerton collapsed?"

There was the sound of paper being rummaged through, then Stella said, "Brown and Whitehouse."

"First names?"

"Bill and…Anthony."

"Did Albert Smith have any siblings?" Boyd asked.

Grace was looking at him through narrowed eyes. "Where are you going with this, Boyd?"

He turned his head and smiled at her. "Call it a hunch. Eve, have you got the coroner's report for Hammerton handy?"

The pathologist frowned. "Somewhere."

"Find it."

Grace put her pen down, took her glasses off, and crossed her arms. "Alright, Boyd. Dazzle us."

The DSI stood up suddenly and began pacing. "There's enough evidence for us to assume, probably rightly so, that Edward Tanner and Albert Smith were part of the same gang responsible for numerous thefts in Hastings. I've also come across a couple of police reports that show Tanner, Smith, and Percy Hammerton were all arrested at the same time. It *could* be a coincidence, but let's assume for the sake of argument that it isn't. We know Hammerton's into almost everything, so from that we can extrapolate that he was Tanner and Smith's buyer for their goods. With me so far?"

"You know, if you carry on flapping your arms like that, you'll start to fly," Eve stated dryly, but no one else was listening to her. Their attention was solely on Boyd; they could tell he was onto a solid idea.

"But Hammerton's also got a reputation for being a grass, which is one of the reasons he was never actually charged with anything," Boyd continued. "Now, Spence, did Percy Hammerton's have a history of heart attack?"

"Hang on," the DI said without looking up. "I'm still waiting for the records to load. But I can tell you he had two siblings, a sister named Margaret and a brother named…."

"William?" Boyd asked, trying not to look smug and failing miserably.

The others looked at Spencer for confirmation, and when he nodded, they all stared at Boyd. "That's scary," Stella stated wide-eyed.

"Not really. Just a little old-fashioned deduction." The DSI shrugged. "And a guess. 'Bill Brown' just doesn't seem to fit. Don't ask me to explain why, it's just a hunch. Another name for 'Bill' is 'William', and the three most common names in England are Smith, Jones and Brown."

"So 'Bill Brown' becomes 'William Smith', Albert's brother," Grace said, nodding in understanding. "And you think Brown murdered Hammerton because he was going to grass up Albert?"

"But Hammerton died of a heart attack," Stella objected.

"Of which there was a history of in his family," Spencer added. "Father died at forty, grandfather at thirty, uncles at forty three and forty six…."

"Eve, does the coroner's report mention any unusual marks around the mouth or throat of Hammerton?"

The pathologist shook her head. "Nothing. Wait…." She turned the file upside down, then onto its side and squinted. "Well that's just stupid!"

"What is?" Stella asked.

"A note in the margin. It says…." Eve squinted and then shook her head. "Anyone's eyes better than mine?"

"Here." Stella held her hand out. "It says 'slight discolouration of corners of mouth and tongue, some dark marks on cheeks, probably post-mortem.'"

Eve shook her head. "No, not post-mortem." Then she looked at Boyd. "You think Brown - or Smith, whatever he's called - suffocated Hammerton instead of trying to revive him?"

"That would be my hypothesis, yes, but that's all it is." He sighed suddenly. "I mean, it's a great idea, but it still doesn't get us anywhere, really, does it?"

Eve's mobile suddenly rang and she moved off to a corner of the room to answer it. "It's the best frame we have to work with," Grace said. "So let's try and fill it out with whatever evidence we can find. Hammerton's family has a history of heart attacks; that's a plus in the accidental death column and a minus in 'Foyle Is A Murderer'. Let's see what else we can find that will support the first column and oppose the second."

"Spence and I can carry on working on that," Boyd replied. "I believe you're still on Leiter duty?"

"Didn't we already win the bet?" Spencer asked, grinning.

"Double or nothing," Stella said.

"Tonight and tomorrow if we win?"

She nodded. "And if you lose, we'll split the rounds tonight."

Spencer thought for a moment, then nodded. "Agreed."

After Eve finished on the phone, she stood and headed across the room, filled her coffee mug and started to drift towards the lab. "Where are you going?" Boyd asked without looking up.

"I've managed to get hold of some material from Hastings during the war," the pathologist replied, unperturbed. "It isn't police-related, just general odds and ends of paper. I thought I'd have a look through it, see if there's anything amongst the ashes that would help us." She held her hands up. "I know it's a long shot…."

"But it's worth a try," Boyd finished, still staring at the page in front of him. "Let us know if you find anything."

"You know, for once, I thought I'd just keep it to myself," Eve muttered. Luckily no one heard her and if they did, they didn't acknowledge. Before she left the squad room, Eve caught Stella's eye and mouthed, 'Come through in twenty'. The Frenchwoman smiled briefly before going back to work.

Twenty minutes later, Stella sighed in frustration and stretched. "I'm going to get a tea. Does anyone want anything?"

The other three shook their heads, choosing not to comment on the oddity of Stella drinking tea. Apparently they all decided that if she felt the need to come up with an excuse to sneak off to see Eve, however flimsy the excuse was, then they'd let her carry on.

"Hey," Eve said, looking up as she heard the doors to the lab open.

Stella smiled warmly, walked straight up to her, and put her arms around her waist, laying her head on her back. "Hi."

Eve stopped what she was doing, surprised. "Are you okay?"

"Just a little tired."

"You should get more sleep."

"Someone kept me awake most of the night."

Eve grinned. "I didn't hear you complaining last night."

"And I'm not now," Stella replied, kissing her. "I'm just making the most of having someone."

They chatted for a little while, then Eve said, "Take a look at this, tell me what you think."

"What is it?" Stella asked as she stared down the microscope.

"Paper fragments. The niece of a friend's aunt is a lecturer of history at Oxford, but she's specifically interested in WW2 memorabilia. This box is from her collection of…well, things that have survived from the war, and, luckily for us, specifically from Hastings because her family came from that area."

"It looks like a letter," Stella muttered. "I think it says 'Hammerton will betray us'." She looked up. "Got any more pieces in there?"

An hour later, they had found enough scraps to be able to read a good portion of the letter, which confirmed Boyd's theory. Smith had written a note to Tanner, explaining that he'd heard new rumours of Hammerton, rumours that he was cracking under pressure with the police following him everywhere, and with the war as well. There was also a line that tied in with the theory about Bill Brown being William Smith; 'Don't worry, Billy will help us.'

"Boyd's going to be completely insufferable now," Eve said, shaking her head.

Stella sighed. "I'll tell him." Then she grinned. "You can make it up to me afterwards."

"Deal." Eve kissed her, then kissed her again. "I'll finish up here, then I'll be back through. Assuming they haven't found Frank Leiter yet."

"I think we would have heard if they had," Stella said as she left the lab.

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

Spencer returned from a bathroom trip with a serious frown on his face. "What's the matter, Spence? Run out of soft tissue paper?" Eve teased, having left the lab and gone back to work on finding the mysterious Mr Leiter.

"Commissioner's on his way down," the DI muttered.

"That can't be good," Grace noted.

Boyd shrugged. "I don't see the problem. We are making progress, after all."

"How did he look?" Stella asked anxiously.

"Like a commissioner," Spencer replied.

"Let's try and look busy then, shall we?" Eve suggested.

The Commissioner, however, was less than impressed with their efficiency; in fact, he looked downright cranky at the fact that they were working. "Boyd, a word."

Boyd grimaced and stood up. "Yes, sir?"

"What are you doing?"

"Working, sir."

"I don't need your attitude, Boyd," the Commissioner snapped.

The DSI frowned in genuine confusion. "That was a serious reply. We're working."

"On what?"

"The Foyle case, sir," Boyd replied.

The Commissioner stared at him. "What Foyle case? And on whose authority?"

"The DAC, sir," Boyd said, now extremely and quite clearly confused.

"Well it wasn't cleared with me," the Commissioner ploughed on. "I was just bringing you a new case to work on." He glanced over to the others, who were working and pretending not to listen, though to the Commissioner it looked more like listening and pretending to work. "What is the case, anyway?"

"Five men died whilst in police custody in Hastings towards the end of the Second World War," Boyd replied promptly. "They were suspicious deaths, but nothing was ever proved. We were asked to reinvestigate, and find out whether or not the senior police officer in Hastings, DCSI Christopher Foyle, was responsible for murder or not, sir."

"I see. And Robert approved this, did he?"

"Yes, sir."

"Why?"

Boyd sucked a breath in through his teeth. "He said an influential person had…'asked' for the case to be re-examined." Funnily enough, 'asked' sounded an awful like 'demanded' the way Boyd said it. "Apparently his grandfather was one of the men who died."

"Does this person have a name?" the Commissioner asked, his patience obviously wearing thin.

"Mark Talbot, sir. I believe you play golf with him once a month."

Commissioner Davison stared for a few moments, and Boyd could literally see the pieces falling into place in his mind. "Please tell this is some sort of a practical joke."

"I'm afraid not, sir," Boyd replied, steeling himself for the inevitable onslaught. He was actually disappointed when it didn't occur.

"I knew the name 'Foyle' was familiar to me." The Commissioner shook his head. "But Mark has always said that he would never allow the police near the case again." He smiled wryly. "Doesn't trust us. Won't even undertake a friendly bet or two on the course."

"Actually, sir, the DAC didn't say it was Talbot, he just said an influential person," Boyd said. "But out of all the relatives of the deceased, only Mark Talbot fits that description."

"Unless there's a family member you've overlooked," the Commissioner pointed out.

Boyd nodded. "That is a possibility, sir. We're still checking everyone."

The Commissioner sighed. "Alright, Boyd, what have you got so far?"

The DSI quickly outlined the facts and hypotheses, and what little evidence they had managed to collect. He knew it was minimal, but under the circumstances, he thought they had done pretty well, and he could tell the Commissioner thought the same. Not that the man would ever say so, of course.

"I'm going to let you continue with this, Boyd, but unless you get results in forty eight hours, I want you to shelve it, forget about it, and move onto this." The Commissioner held up the file he was holding. "Is that understood?"

"What about…?" Boyd never got the question out.

"I will take care of anyone who wants to complain about the case being shut down, but from the sounds of it, most people would be quite happy to see it disappear into history, where it belongs." With that, he turned and strode out of the squad room. Boyd turned and realised words weren't necessary; the team had heard every word. They understood what was now at stake.

The mood after the Commissioner's departure was sombre and a touch melancholy as their enthusiasm for working seemed to have left with the man himself. At least until Eve gave them all an unwanted, yet at the same time wanted, wake up call.

"GOT IT!" the pathologist shouted loudly, causing Spencer and Boyd to fall out of their chairs, Grace's elbows to slip off the desk, and Stella to jump about two feet in the air.

"Could you make a fanfare announcement or something before you do that next time?" Spencer asked as he clambered to his feet.

"Or an aircraft siren, that would be good," Stella added.

"Sorry." Eve didn't look it, though. "I've found him, I've found Frank Leiter."

Everyone stared, jaws hanging open. "How?" Grace asked.

"I remember seeing a name that looked familiar, but there's no 'Leiter' on these lists, or even anything close," the pathologist explained. "But I knew there was *something*. So I started looking at anagrams…."

"You're not serious!" Spencer exclaimed.

Boyd grunted as Eve beamed and nodded. "Scrabble freak."

"Grouchy bear."

"So who is he?" Stella asked eagerly.

"Neil F. Karter. Karter's spelt with a 'K'," Eve replied, her smile turning superiorly smug. "He left America about two months before he died, and here's the interesting part."

"You mean we haven't had that already?" Grace asked mildly.

"He left the States in the midst of a murder and rape investigation," the pathologist continued, suddenly sober. "There had been a series of violent rapes and murders of young women, quite a few underage, in the area where Karter lived, and he was the police's main suspect. But then he skipped the country…."

"And because it was during the war, no one knew where he had gone to?" Stella guessed, pulling a face.

Spencer rummaged on his desk for a piece of paper and a pen. "So we should check for any murders two months previously to Karter's death in the Hastings area, right? What ages of women are we looking for?"

Eve consulted another sheet and her face contorted in disgust. "Fifteen to twenty."

Boyd ran a hand through his hair. "Jesus."

Grace, who had paled visibly, suddenly stood. "Excuse me." And she disappeared into her office.

"Is she okay?" Stella asked worriedly, voicing concern for the rest of the team.

"Just leave her for the moment," Boyd said in a firm, but gentle tone. "I'll check on her later." No one argued. "Alright, Spence, Stella, find out if there were any murders, solved or unsolved, in the two months previous to Karter's death, of women aged fourteen to twenty two."

"Why the leeway either side?" Eve asked.

"Precaution. Let's be as thorough as we can, alright?" He looked at the pathologist. "You can help me track down Neil Karter. Let's see if he's got any family left."

Spencer looked up at the board. "What about James Talbot?"

"He's not going anywhere, Spence," Boyd replied. "And I don't think he's important for the minute. Let's concentrate on the others."

"And Grace?" Stella's question was quietly voiced, but it was what everyone was thinking.

Boyd glanced briefly towards the profiler's room. "Just leave her be."

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Boyd took his glasses off as his eyes began to ache, the words on the page in front of him blurring into a mass of black and white. Rubbing his temple, then letting his fingers slide through his hair, Boyd sighed. The office was empty, everyone else having gone home hours ago, and it was dimly lit, throwing shadows of the past against the walls, and he clamped his eyes shut against them. He didn't need any more surprises, didn't need any more complications in an already complicated case. Sure, they'd had a breakthrough with their mysterious American, and had found some links between the other deceased that made everything look even more suspicious, but it still wasn't enough. Boyd grunted softly. He just needed to relax.

Of course. Relax. Sure. He wasn't even sure he knew what that word meant, and he was certain he had never actually done such a thing. A small noise made his eyes fly open and Boyd focussed immediately on the person stood in front of his desk. He hadn't heard her come in, didn't know how long she had been stood there. As far as he knew, she had gone home with the rest, but from the look on her face, the shadows under her eyes, the paleness of her skin, Grace was suffering more than she would let anyone, even Boyd, know.

"What is it?" Boyd asked by way of greeting. He was tired, they both were; anyone could see it but neither of them would admit how weary they really were.

And by way of answer, Grace held up a piece of paper. Judging by the way it was folded, it was a letter, and judging by the creases, it had been read many times. "I think you should read this," she replied, her voice wavering.

With a heavy heart, Boyd reached forward and took the paper carefully from her, allowing his finger to brush hers briefly. But Grace didn't acknowledge the gesture, and that made him worry. Then, as his eyes fell to the letter, he began to understand why.

TBC


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Letter-format chapter. Perhaps OOC.

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*My dear Grace,  
I am assuming that since you are reading this letter, I am no longer with you. I would say that I miss you, but I don't know if that's possible. If it is, then I surely will. I will also assume that you are old enough to understand everything I have written here, and that you are familiar with the difficulty I have putting my thoughts and feelings into words. Your mother has done a wonderful job of loosening me up, as she would put it, but some habits are too far ingrained to ever be changed.

I know you are wondering why this letter has come to you, and why I am even writing it. To be honest, I know what I have to put down but I really have no idea how to start. I am looking at you right now, Grace, peaceful in your sleep, and I cannot help but wonder what kind of life you will have. Will my single moment of gross recklessness haunt you until your dying dies? I hope not. I have done well protecting the secret so far, and I see no reason for the truth to come out any time soon. But I must tell you what happened. Do not ask me why; I just feel you should know the truth about me, even if it destroys your faith in, and your love of, me.

Perhaps I should simply start at the beginning, even though you will have no doubt heard this story, or versions of it, often by the time you read this letter. Your mother and I never enjoyed what one might call a conventional relationship. We received many condemning looks, and most people jumped to the wrong conclusions straight away. But I love her, Grace, just as I love you. If you never believe anything else, believe that.

I wouldn't say I loved her from the moment I saw her; such things just were not encouraged. But she filled a gap in my life that I didn't know was there until she came along. Slowly, as I got to know her, I began to realise she was an amazing woman, so full of life. Falling in love with her simply…happened. I woke up one morning to find she was the first thought that crossed my mind, and that I couldn't wait to see her. But there were a great many things in our way, not least of all my inability to allow myself to move past the death of my first wife, Rosalind, the difference in age, and my son, Andrew. I'm sure by the time you read this, Grace, you will know all about Rosalind. I only hope you understand.

When the war ended, people danced in the street, but I couldn't bring myself to join in. I watched your mother dancing with my son, and all I could feel was jealousy. I should have been elated that the war was finally over, but I couldn't. I just wanted to get as far away from the station - from Sam and Andrew enjoying themselves - as I could. I went home, avoiding all the cheer and joy, and poured myself a stiff drink. But before I had finished it, there was a knock on my door. Your mother was stood there, her cheeks rosy from the exertion of dancing, but there was something in her eyes, a kind of sadness, and I wondered what had happened. At first I thought it was Andrew, and my instinct was to have severe words with my son.

Then your mother quite simply blurted out that she had missed me, that she wanted to dance with me and not Andrew, and that she loved me. I imagine I looked like a statue, frozen to the spot; actually, I know I did because your mother told me so some time later. Then, seeing I was shocked beyond belief, she simply threw her arms around my neck and kissed me. I didn't, I couldn't, respond. Your mother took it the wrong way, of course. She started to apologise profusely, turned and ran off, tears already streaking her beautiful face. It was that more than anything that made my mind up for me. Without really thinking, I went after her, and not caring who saw us, kissed her quite forcibly in the middle of the street.

As I have already said, I'm sure that story is quite familiar to you, Grace, but for me, it is important. It helps to put me in a positive frame of mind to allow myself to write what comes next.

I was deemed too old to fight in the war and I resented that decision greatly, but in time, I accepted it and threw myself whole-heartedly into my work. Unfortunately, over the years I policed war time Britain, I made a few enemies, all of which wished to see me destroyed one way or another. Yet I managed to survive until the end of the war with my life, limbs and reputation intact. However, it wasn't long after you were born that things started to go wrong.

I remember when you were born, my dear Grace. I had always thought I would only have Andrew to carry on the Foyle line, but then I was blessed with you. The image of your mother holding you will always be at the forefront of my mind; it was the first time I saw you, and I loved you instantly. And if it was possible, I loved your mother even more. Of course I still doubted whether we had done the right thing, pursuing a relationship, marrying, and having a child. But your mother always knew it was the right thing, and then Andrew turned up to meet his half-sister. I was worried, your mother could tell, especially because Andrew had never been particularly accepting of our relationship, but he surprised me. He took you in his arms, Grace, and kissed your forehead so very tenderly. Then when he looked at me, I was surprised to see tears in his eyes. After he had handed you back to your mother, Andrew and I embraced, and he clung to me as though he was drowning. We had never been particularly demonstrative, but my relationship with your mother had started to cure me of that, and I found holding onto my son was both important and enjoyable. I was suddenly overcome with pride and love for Andrew, and I started to cry as well. And over his shoulder, I could see your mother looking at me, her smile like the sun coming up. She often told me afterwards that she would have several children if it helped to strengthen my relationship with Andrew. Your mother was like that sometimes.

You were about seven months old when I received the first hint that something fairly unpleasant was afoot. My old Sergeant, Paul Milner - who was by then an Inspector - came to see me. His own daughter was a few years old by then, and he had to show me photos before anything else, just like a proud father would. Of course I didn't need pictures of you; I simply showed him the real thing. I wonder if you remember him, Grace. I hope so. And I hope you have the chance to see him again when you are grown up. He is a good man, one of the best I have ever worked with.

After we had caught up, Milner turned serious. He told me that towards the end of the war, a grave accusation had been made against me, but nothing had ever come of it and it had been dismissed before I had even heard about it. But then, the week before Milner's visit, two other people had come forward with…complaints about me, despite it having been three years since the war had ended. I'm afraid there is no delicate way to put this, Grace; I was accused of murdering people while they were in police custody.

I could see how much it had cost Milner to tell me all of this; I could see it in his eyes that he didn't believe a word of it. And yet after the two new accusations, the police were thinking about launching an investigation. They had approached Milner to head it; he had refused. He knew if he did, then any outcome, whether good or bad, could be blamed on our friendship. But he wanted to warn me, to prepare me for what was going to happen. Milner had been accused of murder before, and he knew what I would go through once the investigation started. He couldn't tell me who I had been accused of murdering, and I didn't want to guess. Then Milner bade me goodbye, saying it would be best if he stayed away from me, and although it pained me to say, I agreed with him.

I was left to contemplate what to tell your mother, if to tell her anything, and whether I should inform Andrew of the potential problems. Of course, and as usual, Sam solved the debate for me; she had been stood in the hallway listening. She was as stubborn as always, her feet firmly planted at my side. She promised me she would not leave me, ever, no matter what happened at any point in our lives. Then she kissed me, and brought you to me, my darling Grace. In that moment, nothing else mattered.

We waited for months for something to happen, but we heard nothing. In fact, we had just celebrated your second birthday when Milner came by to visit again, and I took that in itself to be a good sign. He told us the accusations had apparently been a mistake; a coalition of some of the resentful families of men I had arrested, and who had subsequently died in custody due to either natural causes or suicide, had produced the allegations in the hopes of discrediting me. But the investigation proved beyond a reasonable doubt that foul play was not involved in any of the deaths.

I'm not actually sure who was more pleased about the outcome, your mother or Milner. I, on the other hand, could only imitate happiness because throughout the course of the investigation, I had expected my dark secret to appear from the shadows. I didn't need any help from some disgruntled families to demolish my reputation; I could do that quite easily on my own. You see, Grace…. Even trying to write this now, while looking at you, is quite possibly the most difficult thing I have ever done. But I will do it. You see, Grace, one of the men didn't die of natural causes, nor did he commit suicide. I killed him.

He was an American by the name of Neil F. Karter, and the most arrogant young man I had ever met. I arrested him towards the end of the war; if I remember correctly, it was only a week or two before we received the all clear. Ironically, I arrested him on a murder charge, and he tried to convince me he was part of an American intelligence organisation. I didn't believe him for an instant and I couldn't find any evidence to prove what he was telling me. There was also the evidence that followed him, evidence of his crimes, but there just wasn't enough to convict him. I was going to ask the Americans if they knew him, but…I never had the chance.

Karter was found in his cell, and unfortunately, it was your mother who discovered his body, along with Milner. He had hung himself and no one knew why, not that anyone really cared. No one knew anything about him and no one seemed to miss him. They were all content to forget about the whole thing.

But you, my dear Grace, will know the truth. Perhaps I shouldn't be sharing this with you, perhaps it would have been better if I had told Milner or Andrew, or even your mother. But for some reason, I feel like you should know the truth about your father. I am not perfect, I have never claimed to be, but I have always considered myself to be honest and law-abiding; I suppose it's part of being a policeman. But Karter changed all that. Please believe me, Grace, I never meant for any of it to happen. But something inside me snapped and…. Well, perhaps I had better tell you the whole story.

It was late afternoon, when everyone else had gone home, and I decided to question Karter again. The case against him was that he had raped and then murdered at least one young woman; my gut feeling was that it was more, but there was little evidence to prove that theory. And we had evidence of this one murder, but not enough to convict him. Both Milner and I were hoping for a confession, but Karter seemed particularly unbothered by us questioning and holding him. He seemed to take great pleasure in taunting us, never actually admitting what he did, but flaunting the truth just out of our reach. Both Milner and I knew it, and we both knew I couldn't do anything about it. The woman was so young, Grace, younger than your mother, and so beautiful, just like Sam. I think that was why this man angered me so much, especially when he was barely eighteen himself. The worst part was, Karter seemed to have seen something no one else had, and that was what your mother meant to me. When I went back to question him, he started to goad me, by telling me all the things he would like to do to her if given the chance. He knew there was no one else listening, knew I would never be able to prove anything, and so he tormented me until I had taken more than any man in his right mind would.

I could say I don't remember what happened, but that would be a lie. And one lie, of immense proportions no less, is more than I am comfortable with telling after all these years. I remember everything so clearly that it has haunted me since. Each time I close my eyes, I can still see Karter's lifeless body on the floor. He had said one thing too many, pushed me one inch too far, and I hit him. My fist caught his jaw and spun him. He fell heavily onto the corner of the table and then toppled to the floor. I stood still for a moment or two until I felt the blood stop pounding in my ears, and I waited for Karter to get up. He never did. I was fairly numb with shock as I knelt beside him and checked for a pulse, and when I didn't find one, I'll admit I panicked a fraction. But then coldness took over, and whether it was right or wrong, I hung him. I thought that bruising might show up on his jaw, but when the coroner examined the body, he declared death had occurred by hanging, and that was the end of it.

To this day, I do not know why he died. All I know is that I have carried the guilt of his death, and the guilt of my terrible lie, since that awful day, and while I have lied to your mother all these years, I could not bear the thought of lying to you, my darling Grace. You may think less of me after reading this. It would be understandable. And I do not expect forgiveness; I don't really expect anything from you. I haven't the right.

Your mother does not know what is written in this letter, and I know that despite her boundless curiosity, she will not pry. I would ask that you not tell her what I have shared with you; if you love me if only a little, please do this for me, Grace. I love your mother far too much to hurt her this way, and believe me, it would kill her. I know it will hurt you too, the knowledge that your own father is a murderer, but I believe that already, you are strong enough to cope. You are growing up so quickly, my dear Grace, and already I can see the woman you will become, and if I am no longer around to see that woman, know I am, and always will be, proud of you.

Your mother is trying to get me out of my study (yes, I relocated in order to finish writing) so I will end this letter here. I wish there was time to talk this over with you, but I do not think I could stand to see the expression on your face. I have punished myself each day since it happened, but I know you could double, even triple, my pain with a single look. I wish…I wish a great many things, Grace, but there is nothing now that I deserve. Not your mother's love, and certainly not you. But I have never been gladder of both.

I love you, my darling Grace. You were the blessing I had no right to have in my life, but one I am forever thankful for.

Your father,

Christopher Foyle

TBC


	15. Chapter 15

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A stunned silence filled the squad room as the team looked first at Grace, then at Boyd, and back to Grace again, simply not believing their ears.

"So you mean…?"

"So you're…?"

"Oh my God."

Grace closed her eyes briefly, instinctively leaning towards Boyd for support. The decision to tell the team the truth (the whole truth and nothing but the truth, this time) had not been made lightly, and she and Boyd had argued extensively about it the night before.

*"No, Boyd."

Boyd ran a hand through his hair in frustration and began pacing again. After he had read the letter from Grace's father, he had been in an understandable state of shock, which quickly wore off when she offered her resignation and tried to walk out of his office. Kissing her maybe hadn't been the best idea he'd ever had, but at least she didn't leave. She didn't slap him either. Boyd took her gently by the hand and led her out into the car park, into his car, and then took her back to his house. Once there, Grace had regained some of her composure, which was why they were now arguing.

"I don't understand how you can keep saying now like that!" Boyd said, his voice escalating.

Grace glared at him. "It's quite easy, Boyd. Watch - no." She enunciated the word very clearly.

Boyd decided the only way he was going to have a chance of winning their 'debate' was to pull rank. "It's not your decision to make."

It didn't work. "Then whose decision is it? Yours? No, Boyd, this is my decision and I will not put everyone's career in jeopardy…."

"Any more than you have done?" Boyd asked, sharply and quickly. "Face reality, Grace, we all in this deep shit together. Even if you had been honest from the start, we'd still have wound up in this place!"

"And how did you come to that conclusion?" There was a biting edge to her tone that Boyd chose to ignore.

"Grace, I think someone has set this whole case up so that it will turn into a witch hunt. Whoever is responsible has a grudge against your father, probably because he…."

"Or she," Grace interrupted.

Boyd rolled his eyes. "Probably because *they* feel Foyle was responsible for the death of a family member. It was an impossible case to start with, yet we were told in no uncertain terms that we were to investigate it. We were set up to fail; not just you, all of us."

"Perhaps they wanted to destroy me, and the rest of the team is just…."

"In the way?"

Grace shrugged. "I wouldn't have put it quite like that, but basically, yes."

"I've thought of that. But now it doesn't really seem to matter, does it?" Boyd asked. "We're all in this together, which means to get out of it with our careers and our pensions still intact, we need to work together, as a team, or whoever's behind all this will simply bury us."

"Do you think you can remember that pep talk to share with the others?" Grace asked in an amused tone.

"I might be able to. But only if you stop arguing with me about this." He reached for her hand. "Grace, they deserve to know the truth. We have to trust them…."

"Before we go any further," Boyd said, his quiet voice even deeper than normal, "I want it made clear that even if Grace had told us the truth from the start, we would still be in this position. I don't want anyone laying blame on anyone else, but if you absolutely feel that need…." He glanced for a long minute at Spencer, who had the good grace to look guilty. "…Blame me."

"I can live without blaming anyone," Eve said casually.

"Me too," Stella agreed.

Spencer nodded. "No blame from me either."

"Good. Now as far as we're concerned, we don't know anything about Grace's parentage. Does anyone have a problem with that?" Boyd asked, and they all shook their heads. "Great. So don't mention it again unless Grace or myself does. Now, what I want to do is just forget all…." He used both hands and motioned to the entire clear board. "…Of this, and start again on something *completely* new."

"Like?" Spencer asked.

Boyd looked at him. "Like finding out who really wanted this investigation in the first place, why they went to the DAC instead of the commissioner, and what hold they have over the DAC to make him order an investigation without checking with the commissioner first. But quietly," he said, making a 'lower' gesture with his hands. "Chop chop!"

TBC


	16. Chapter 16

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"What do you want doing with this lot, boss?" Spencer asked, pointing to the paper stuck to the board.

"Much as I'd like to say 'burn it', 'throw it', or even 'recycle it'," Boyd replied over his shoulder, "I won't. Just put it in a box somewhere."

"So, we're treating this as a new investigation, sir?" Stella asked as she and Eve cleared the desks.

Boyd nodded. "I want to concentrate on finding out who actually ordered this investigation. That is our primary concern."

"We'll need to interview Mark Talbot again," Grace said, watching Boyd for his reaction.

But he simply nodded again. "I know. You and I can do that, Grace. Eve, help Stella…. No, on second thoughts, Spence, you help Stella go through the lists of relatives again. Dig any dirt on any of them, I don't care what it is. I want information and lots of it."

"What about me?" Eve asked in an amused tone. As if separating her and Stella on a work project would stop them fooling around in the office.

"Harangue the American Embassy for information on Neil Karter," Boyd replied. "I want to know everything about him."

Eve looked at him. "Everything?"

There was something in her tone he didn't like. "Within reason, Eve, alright? Concentrate, for Christ's sake!"

Grace smiled. Finally Boyd was getting back to normal. While the thoughtful, sensitive Boyd was nice for a change, she just couldn't get used to it. "Do you want me to call Talbot? Ask him to come in for another chat?"

Boyd thought about it, then shook his head. "No. Let's go to his place of work."

"Not the best approach, Boyd," she cautioned him.

"I know, but I want him off-balance. I want to know if he's the organ grinder or just the monkey."

Grace held her hands up surrender. "Alright. I suppose you want to handle the bulk of the interview as well?"

"I was going to let you do it, but since you mention it, I don't mind doing all the work," Boyd said to her, his eyes shining with amusement, before he turned to Eve again. "I also want you to check everything on James Talbot."

"I've done it several times already, Boyd," Eve protested.

"Then do it again! I want to know everything there is to know about the man…within reason!"

"The board isn't big enough," Spencer muttered.

"We could always use the car park," Stella suggested.

The DI shook his head. "Don't think that's big enough either."

"Look, just use your initiatives, yeah?" Boyd said, his newfound patience rapidly disappearing. "Collect all information on James Talbot, all the current relatives of the deceased, and Karter. And anything else that could possibly be relative to this case. Grace, can I have a word?"

"Is something wrong?" she asked, settling onto the couch in her room. She wasn't sure why Boyd had directed her into there, but she wasn't complaining. The familiar settings were like a soothing balm to her frazzled nerves.

Boyd sat next to her and took her hand, not caring who saw them. "I know you've told me everything, but I need to know…is there *anything*, anything at all, that you know that would shed some light on Talbot's death. Because without that information, your father could still be accused of murder."

"I know, Peter, but I don't know anything else, and there was nothing in my father's papers that could have helped," Grace replied, squeezing his hand in thanks for the silent support he offered.

"Is there no one you can ask?"

Grace sighed and closed her eyes. "There might be." She held her hand up. "But it's only a 'might'. Don't ask me any more on the subject."

"Alright," Boyd replied softly. "Do you think we should postpone seeing Mark Talbot until we've got more solid information on his grandfather?"

"I think that might be best, yes," Grace said. "He's antagonistic towards us already. If we go and see him at work without anything to back up a visit, he'll bring the entire Met bureaucracy down on our heads."

"Do you think he's the one behind all this?" Boyd asked, rubbing soothing circles on the back of Grace's hand with his thumb. "I know he seemed genuinely surprised when we interviewed him, but couldn't that just be a cover?"

Grace shook her head. "I don't think so. If he's bluffing, then he's a damn good actor."

Boyd ran his free hand through his hair. "We're getting nowhere, are we?"

"I don't think we were ever meant to," she replied softly.

He leant his head against the back of the couch, then turned to the side to look at Grace. "Would you object if I kissed you?"

Despite her best attempts, Grace blushed magnificently. "Think about what it would do to your reputation," she warned him.

"I don't care."

"Awww," Stella cooed outside in the squad room.

Spencer pulled a face. "It's not fair. I don't have anyone!"

"I have someone and it's still not fair," Eve grumbled. "If I did that to Stella, Boyd would yell for a week."

"I wouldn't mind," Spencer said with a grin.

Eve glared at him. "In your dreams, Spence." Then she grimaced. "I shouldn't have said that."

Stella shook her head. "Let's get through this as quickly as we can," she suggested. "If we finish sooner, we might be able to go home before midnight."

"I love an optimist," Eve said, smiling.

"They were watching," Grace said to Boyd.

He shrugged. "And?"

"Just letting you know your reputation is well and truly ruined."

"They're not brave enough," he murmured, smirking.

Grace nodded. "Very true." She glanced at her watch. "You still want me to try and get some more information?"

"If you can."

"Then I have to go." She stood and collected her bag and coat, but before leaving the room, Grace bent and kissed Boyd again. "I'll see you later."

Unfortunately, the catcalls hadn't died when she opened the door, and Boyd quickly turned to glare at the younger members of the team. Stella and Eve in turn glared at Spencer, who remained staring steadfastly at the table. Grace shook her head and left without a word.

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The mood was quickly turning sour in the unit, as they tried without success to find any information on Karter. Spencer and Stella reorganised the board, filtering everything out until only the bare essentials remained, and still they had nothing. Finally, Boyd grabbed the phone from Eve and began yelling. Ten minutes later, the receiver was slammed down and the DSI strode towards his office.

"So…is that line of investigation dead, on hold…what?" Spencer muttered to his colleagues.

Boyd suddenly turned. "They've tracked down the Karter we want and are sending over a list of relatives," he told them. "And there was something about a birth certificate, I think."

"You think?" Eve asked.

Boyd shrugged. "I was too busy yelling to pay much attention. Just watch the fax machine."

"Do you want us to carry on, boss?" Spencer asked.

"Have you got a list of relatives there?"

Stella waved a sheet of paper around. "Here, sir."

Boyd grabbed it. "I'll go through this until I find our mysterious 'benefactor'. You three find the reason James Talbot died!" he yelled, finally slamming his office door.

"How come Grace gets to skive off?" Spencer asked.

"Looks like it pays to be the boss' girlfriend," Eve replied with a grin.

Spencer screwed his face up. "Go and make some coffee, woman."

While Eve was wrestling with the coffee machine - which only seemed to work for Stella - the fax machine began to beep incessantly and the pathologist turned to glare at it. "Stella, darling, would you mind looking at that for me?"

"Alright."

The DC rose from her chair and crossed the room, absently chewing on the end of the pen as she went. They were almost there, they almost had an answer; she could almost taste it.

"Damn coffee machine!" Eve shouted, hitting it.

"Get Stella to fix it. It's her baby," Spencer replied.

But Stella was in a world of her own. As she picked up the fax, her face drained to white as she looked at the information before her. It wasn't, it *couldn't* be, right. But it was. The Americans had no reason to lie, and the birth certificate appeared genuine. In fact, everything tracked perfectly, but that didn't lessen the shock. Numbly, she stood, aware of the fact that Eve was talking to her, but not hearing a word she was saying. Her movements were jerky, almost disjointed, and her throat was dry as she made her way across the room to Boyd's office.

"What?" was the irritably shouted reply as Stella knocked on the door.

Wordlessly she entered the room, being careful to shut the door behind her. She stopped in front of Boyd's desk, the sheaf of papers clutched so tightly her knuckles were white. Stella didn't make a sound, just waited until her boss looked up.

Boyd was irritated at the interruption, not that he was getting anywhere with his task. He was about to yell at his subordinate when he took stock of her posture, saw the paleness of her skin and the look in her eyes. Dread, tinged with fear, gripped him.

"What is it?" he asked quietly, and in silent reply, Stella handed him the papers she was holding. Boyd put his glasses on as he looked down, his expression growing bleaker and more disbelieving by the minute. When he finished reading, he looked up again. "This can't be true."

Stella nodded. "I'm afraid it is, sir," she replied, her voice trembling.

TBC


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deliberate ambiguous chapter. :)

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After she had parked the car, Grace stayed in it for a few moments, attempting to collect herself and calm her breathing. It wasn't that she didn't want to be there…in fact, she didn't quite know what the problem was. It wasn't that she hadn't visited for months because that was normal. It wasn't even the topic of conversation she would have to bring up. Perhaps it was simply the fact that being there reminded her of the father she had lost, and even now still missed. Of course, who she was visiting had lost the same; perhaps more. But it had to be done. They *had* to know the truth for the case, and if Grace could find out any more information, she would do so, not just for the case, but for the team, for Boyd, and for her own peace of mind. Finally, after much deliberating, Grace climbed somewhat wearily out of her car, shouldered her bag, and headed into the nursing home.

It was quiet inside, but that was nothing new. There was no one at reception, so she simply waited and concentrated on her breathing.

"Can I help you?"

Grace turned at the voice and automatically plastered a smile on her face. "Hi. Yes, I'm here to see…."

The nurse suddenly smiled warmly. "Oh, Dr Foley. I'm sorry, I was miles away. I didn't recognise you for a moment."

"Busy?" Grace asked politely.

The nurse carried on smiling. "You know how it is. Do you want me to…?"

Grace shook her head. "Terrace or room?"

"A day like today? The terrace, of course."

"Of course. Thank you."

Grace walked through the home without really looking at anyone or anything. She just concentrated on her steps and, for some reason, the sound of Boyd's voice. Incredibly enough, she found it soothing, a notion that almost caused her to laugh out loud.

The terrace was almost empty apart from a couple of guys playing chess, and one solitary person sat at the end, staring out over the garden. The slope of the shoulders that were once so straight caused Grace's heart to break. Tentatively, she walked up and placed her hands on those frail shoulders.

"Hi."

"I thought you'd forgotten about me."

Grace smiled as she sat down. "I couldn't do that, as you well know. I've just been busy…."

"With work. Yes, I know."

"Work is all I have," Grace admitted. "Apart from you, of course." She leant forward and kissed a wrinkled cheek.

"So why are you here?"

"Do I need a reason?"

"No, but I can tell from your expression you have one."

Grace sighed. "I do."

"Let's hear it, then."

"I don't know…," Grace started.

"Don't beat around the bush, Grace. If you've got something to ask, or tell, then do so."

As delicately as she could, without revealing too much, the profiler explained the nature of the case and the implications it held for the Foyle family. "I know it's a long shot, but I wondered if you knew anything about this James Talbot," she finished. A long silence followed her words.

"What you just told me…I didn't know…he never told me. But then again, why should he?"

Grace noted the slightly bitter tone. "I'm sorry."

"You're doing what you need to."

"It doesn't make it any easier."

"Life isn't easy."

Grace sighed quietly. "Yes. I know."

"I'm sorry, Grace, I don't know anything. You are taking care of yourself, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am," she said with a faint smile.

"Someone has to worry about you."

"I'm not your responsibility, though."

"You'll always be my responsibility. From the first time I held you, and realised you were part of this family, you were my responsibility. And I wouldn't have it any other way."

Grace reached for a hand and squeezed it. "Thank you. I hope you're taking care of yourself as well."

"The best I can. It's not so easy now, of course, but never mind."

"You look tired," Grace stated softly.

"You interrupted my afternoon nap."

"In that case, I'll leave you in peace." She kissed the wrinkled cheek again. "I love you."

"I love you too, Grace. You'll visit again soon, when you have the time?"

"As soon as I can manage it," Grace promised. Then she kissed the weathered forehead before her, stood, and walked out of the nursing home without looking back.

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Spencer and Eve were just about to annihilate the coffee machine when Boyd came out of his office, Stella close at his heels. The DI and the scientist took one look at their expressions and their stomachs did a nervous back flip.

"Problem, boss?" Spencer asked, frowning.

Boyd nodded. "I want you to stop everything you're doing," he said in a very low voice. "All further investigations into anything related to this case are to be suspended immediately. I don't want you to talk to anyone outside this team, either, and that includes the commissioner or the DAC."

"What's going on, Boyd?" Eve asked, panic starting to set in.

He opened his mouth to speak, but before he replied, a cold fear gripped him, followed by a tremendous wave of guilt. "Where's Grace?"

"She isn't back yet," Spencer replied.

"She should be," Boyd muttered to himself.

Eve folded her arms. "Will someone *please* tell me what is going on?"

With a furtive look around to check they were alone, Boyd did just that.

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Grace climbed into her car with obvious relief. Visiting family was never easy, but that had been a positive nightmare. Grace appreciated it was difficult for them, but didn't she realise it was difficult for her too? Admittedly, they had known Christopher Foyle a hell of a lot longer than she had, and the ties of family were admittedly stronger between them than with Grace, but that didn't negate the fact they were all still family.

Leaning her head against the seat of the car, the profiler sighed. "Thank you, Grace," a cold voice said, a fraction of a second before she felt a hand over her mouth. "You have no idea how long I've been looking for…."

TBC


	18. Chapter 18

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The office was suddenly a hive of activity. "Did Grace give you any idea where she was going?" Spencer asked as he grabbed his phone and jacket.

Boyd shook his head. "She said something about seeing…somebody." He frowned suddenly. "Let me think about it for a minute, Spence."

"We might not have a minute, sir."

"I know that!" Boyd yelled. "Just…do something else, yeah?"

"I'll check her office," Stella offered.

Eve shook her head. "I'll do it." At the stares she received from the officers, she shrugged. "Grace and I are both home office. She might not be as offended if she would be if it was one of you."

Boyd held his hands up. "I don't care *who* does it, just get it done!"

Spencer looked at Stella, who looked at Eve, who looked back at Spencer, who sighed. "The Commissioner should know about this."

Boyd was on the verge of exploding into many nasty expletives when his eyes fell on Grace's empty office and he felt his heart constrict in his chest. He hadn't felt that way since the Tony Greene case, but the worry he was feeling now over Grace was ten times what it had been during that incident. And so with a Herculean effort, Boyd controlled his temper, though the obvious strain must have shown on his face because after he had finished speaking, everyone simply did as they were told.

"I will tell the Commissioner just as soon as we find out where Grace might have gone," he said quite quietly. "I want you to check her office, Eve, and, Stella, run a search for Samantha Foley, and Andrew Foley. Grace said she was going to see someone. I would guess that it *has* to be either her mother or her brother."

"Erm, why do I need to search for Andrew Foley, sir?" Stella asked timidly. "Wouldn't he still be a Foyle?"

"Not necessarily," Spencer answered for his boss. "Say the entire family is in danger, not just Foyle, but his wife, his daughter, and his son. Wouldn't it make more sense to change the names of the whole family, instead of just one or two individuals?"

"I hate it when he turns smart on us," Eve said to Stella in a light tone.

"Which brings up the question of why Sam Foyle changed the family name to Foley in the first place," Spencer continued.

Boyd's expression was unreadable. "She knew."

"How do you know?" Eve asked.

"Because I know Grace," he said heavily. "And if Grace was married, there would no way her husband could keep a secret like manslaughter from her." His expression then turned rueful. "Even *I* can't keep secrets from her, and we're *not* married me. Call it a hunch if you want, but I think Sam knew about Foyle's…'accident'."

"You can ask her when you see her," Stella announced, looking up from the computer.

All eyes turned to her. "Where?" Boyd asked, then held his hand up. "Better yet, write the address down, then I want you and Spence in tactical gear and ready to go as soon as I get back."

"From?" Eve asked.

Boyd looked grim. "The Commissioner's office."

"He isn't going to like this," Spencer predicted.

"Spence, I don't really give a shit," Boyd replied.

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Commissioner Davison stared blankly at the sheet of paper in front of him. "This is impossible."

"I think you'll agree, sir, that nothing is impossible," Boyd ground out.

"It has to be a joke."

"This is no joke. Excuse me."

"Boyd, wait," the Commissioner started.

Boyd whirled. "No, I won't wait! There's a madman out there who has been plotting his revenge on the Foyle family for most of his adult life, and he's one step away from destroying them completely! Grace is in danger; I will *not* wait any longer than I already have done."

The Commissioner thought fast, filtering through the words Boyd had just spoken until he reached an unthinkable conclusion. "Grace is…. Foyle…Foley…." He suddenly sank heavily into his seat. "Why didn't I see that before?"

"None of us did," Boyd admitted, then, pre-empting what the Commissioner was going to say, continued quickly. "Yes, I held information back about this case. Yes, it was potentially important, and no, I'm not going to apologise for it. The decision was mine to make, so if you're looking for someone to yell at, yell at me, not my team. Sir."

The Commissioner didn't get a chance to reply, and even if he had thought of something to say, Boyd wouldn't have stayed to listen. For the first time in his life, he had something more important than his job to think about.

TBC


	19. Chapter 19

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Boyd's car screeched to a halt outside the old people's home to find a frantic nurse waiting, and when she saw Stella and Spencer pile out in tactical gear, she seemed quite beside herself.

"Thank God you're here!" she said, rushing forward. "I didn't expect you quite so soon, but I'm not complaining."

Boyd frowned. "What are you talking about?" he asked abruptly.

The nurse either didn't notice or didn't think it was worth pursuing. "I called the police not ten minutes ago. There's a man with a gun in there, holding a visitor and a patient hostage!"

Boyd's blood ran cold and he didn't need to look at the rest of the team to know they were all thinking and feeling the same. "Let me guess: Dr Grace Foley is the visitor, and the patient is her mother, Samantha Foley."

The nurse stared. "That's correct." Then her eyes narrowed. "You were already on your way here."

Eve quickly moved to intercept. "Yes, we were. This is a very tense situation, so we need to know exactly where the hostages are being held, and if anyone else is in immediate danger."

"That's the strange part," the nurse explained. "The man and Dr Foley came in and went straight to Mrs Foley's room. A few moments later, Dr Foley came to the door and shouted me. The man was stood behind her and I could tell straight away something was wrong. She told me he had a gun and that I should call the police. Then the door was shut and locked. And just before you arrived, I heard a shot."

*"What?" *

The nurse was momentarily baffled by the cacophony of voices as they all shouted at her. "It was muffled," she continued, "And there were no screams. It was almost like a warning."

"Alright," Boyd ground out, miraculously keeping a lid on his temper. "Where exactly is Mrs Foley's room?"

"Go in through the front door and carry on straight ahead. There's a corridor on the right and it's the second door on the left. The first room on the left is empty, but the rest of the corridor is occupied."

Boyd nodded. "Spence, Stella. Be careful." Spencer nodded back and then he and Stella entered the building cautiously. Boyd took a deep breath and made the follow, but stopped after the first step. "Nurse…."

"Morton."

"Nurse Morton, who was Grace here to see?" he asked, ignoring the strange look Eve gave him.

"That's the oddest part…."

"Detective Superintendent Boyd." It was almost amusing, but their collective concern for Grace had overridden everything, including the basic courtesy of introduction.

Nurse Morton nodded. "The oddest part is Dr Foley didn't visit her mother today."

"Who?"

"Andrew Leroy."

Boyd nodded. "Where is his room?"

"Corridor on the left, third door on the left."

"Thank you, Nurse. Eve, wait here and make sure *no one* enters this building while we're inside, got that? I don't care if the bloody Commissioner himself comes down to oversee this operation, *no one* gets inside."

Eve nodded solemnly. "Perfectly understood. Maybe I should have brought a machine gun," she muttered.

"That is not funny," Boyd replied flatly.

Eve shrugged. "It wasn't meant to be."

Ignoring her, Boyd took out his phone. "Spence?"

*"Yeah, boss?"* the DI replied quietly.

"Hang fire a minute. There's someone I need to see."

*"What do you want us to do?"*

"Keep your ears open but don't make a move unless something serious happens," Boyd replied.

*"Will do."*

Boyd took another deep breath and strode purposefully into the home. Upon reaching Andrew Leroy's room, he didn't bother knocking, simply opened the door and walked in.

"Who the hell are you?"

"I think the question should be, Mr Leroy, who are you?" Boyd asked, sitting down.

Leroy stared. "You just addressed me by my name so obviously you know who I am. And I certainly know who I am."

"Do you? You see, I'm willing to bet that Andrew Leroy is only about sixty years old, maybe not even that, and you, sir, are older."

"You're crazy."

Boyd smiled thinly. "I don't think so, Mr Foyle."

Andrew blinked. "I haven't heard that name for a while. You're a policeman, aren't you?"

"Is it that obvious?"

"Only on the outside," Andrew replied. "So, what do you want?"

"Do you know about the situation outside?" Boyd asked.

"I know we've been told to stay in our rooms, but that's nothing new. We're always being told what to do. It's like being a child again. No respect."

Boyd smiled properly this time. "There is a situation outside, Mr Foyle, and…."

"Andrew."

"Pardon?"

"Mr Foyle was my father," Andrew said quietly. "I could never get used to that title. Please, call me Andrew."

"Detective Superintendent Boyd," the policeman replied. "Or just Boyd."

"Grace mentions you," Andrew stated.

Boyd stared. "She came to see you today, didn't she?"

"Not long ago. At least I don't think it was too long ago." He smiled ruefully. "Sometimes I forget things."

"Quite understandable. Mr…Andrew, I need to know what you and Grace were talking about."

"You said there was a situation outside," Andrew said suddenly. "Is Grace involved? She is, isn't she? Otherwise you wouldn't be here. You deal with cold cases." He sighed. "She told me everything, Boyd. Well, not everything, of course, but what she could, and I filled in the blanks myself. My father was not a murderer. I could have, perhaps, in certain situations, but my father…." Andrew shook his head firmly. "No. As for this Talbot character, I'm telling you just like I told Grace, I don't know anything."

Boyd sighed. "I thought as much. Why did Grace come to see you, though, and not her mother?"

Andrew looked at him sharply. "I didn't realise she hadn't been to see Sam."

There was a note in his voice which Boyd caught. "Is there something I should know about Mrs Foyle or Grace?" he asked.

There was something in *his* voice which Andrew caught. "You care for Grace a great deal, don't you?"

"Yes," Boyd replied truthfully.

"Sam and I…we don't talk. We haven't done for a very long time."

Boyd almost looked amused. "And yet you're in the same home?"

Andrew pulled a face. "Grace's idea. She thought that if we had no escape, we might get over ourselves and start talking."

"It didn't work," Boyd stated.

"Andrew shook his head. "The one and only time I tried it, Sam hit with in the shin with her walking stick, so I tried to run over her foot with my wheelchair. From then on, the nurses keep her separated."

"Do you remember what the disagreement was about?"

"Yes."

"Will you tell me?"

"Does it have any bearing on what's happening?" Andrew asked.

"I won't know that until I know the reason," Boyd replied. "But you think it might do, or you wouldn't have asked me that question."

Andrew sighed. "When Sam told me she was changing her surname, I was shocked, even more shocked that my father went along with it." He shook his head. "It was all so damn convoluted and downright strange at the time. In fact, it's only just made sense to me." He pulled a face. "I think I owe Sam an apology."

"The reason, Andrew," Boyd reminded the old man surprisingly gently.

"When Grace was born, Sam registered Grace under the name 'Foley' instead of 'Foyle'. At the time, she said it was a spelling mistake and told me she would correct it later. She never did. A few years after that, I found Sam had changed her surname to Foley as well. She wouldn't tell me why, and my father either didn't know or wouldn't tell me either. Then, just before he died, my father told me that I had to change my name as well to something different. It was his dying wish, actually, one I couldn't ignore, and so I became Andrew Leroy. I still didn't understand what it was all about and I blamed Sam." He sighed. "In fact, I was still bitter she had chosen my father instead of me. I had accepted their relationship on the surface, and the birth of Grace made my jealousy seem childish, but with each passing year…I don't know, that jealousy seemed importantly again to me. Then after my father's death, Sam started to act…strangely. It wasn't just my dad's death, it was something else, like she'd just found something out she didn't want to hear. She stopped me from seeing Grace, pushed me away and cut me out of the family completely. When my dad died, he left everything to her, and so I was left with nothing. Jealousy took completely hold of me and I just let myself hate her for cutting into my life and taking my father away from me. I know the last time I saw her, I said some hateful things." He sighed again. "Now it seems she was just trying to protect me. Obviously when my dad died, he left her a letter or something explaining what he had done, and Sam realised Karter's family might just decide on exacting revenge one day. And because they couldn't take it out on my father, they'd go after his family."

Boyd nodded. "That's right. Andrew, Karter's nephew is here, in this building, right now. He's holding Grace and Mrs Foyle hostage in Mrs Foyle's room."

Andrew pulled another face. "Please call her Sam. You have no idea how strange 'Mrs Foyle' sounds…or 'Mrs Foley'."

"I'll try to remember that," Boyd said. "Is there anything else I need to know?"

"I'm curious, why did you come to me first? Why not resolve the issue out there and then come here?" Andrew asked.

Boyd looked thoughtful. "I need to know what kind of mood Grace is in," he replied eventually. "By knowing what you talked about, I can gauge how she'll react in this kind of situation, and see how long it will take her to panic."

"Not long, if he threatens her mother," Andrew said.

Boyd nodded. "That's what I'm afraid of." He stood. "Andrew, thank you for your time."

TBC


	20. Chapter 20

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"Grace, would you *please* tell me what is going on?"

"It's the weekly book club meet, Mum," Grace replied somewhat sarcastically.

Samantha Foley, nee Stewart, also known for a short time as Samantha Foyle, glared at her daughter. "There's no need for that tone, young lady."

"Sorry," Grace said meekly, amazed that an eighty three year old woman could still make her feel like a child.

"Don't pretend to be surprised, Mrs Foyle," the man with the gun said as he turned. "After all, your husband confided everything in you. You should have seen this coming."

"I don't even know who you are, boy," Sam replied tartly.

Grace sighed. "I do."

"Of course you do, Dr Foley. You are, after all, the psychologist. Now, why don't you and your mother continue the conversation from earlier."

Sam frowned. "Earlier? Young man, what on earth are you talking about?"

"Don't tell me you've forgotten, Mum," Grace said quickly, but not quickly enough to raise suspicions.  
"Forgotten what?" Sam asked.

The man's eyes narrowed. "What is this?"

"My mother has Alzheimer's," Grace replied, staring him in the face. "So whatever revenge you're planning won't mean anything to her."

He smiled. "Don't worry, I'll remind her of her husband's murderous tendencies before I kill you both." He then turned back to the door as if he was expecting it to burst open any moment.

Sam looked at Grace. *'Alzheimer's?'* her expression clearly said.

Grace looked apologetic. *'Necessary lie.'*

*'I see. You were here before?'* Sam raised her eyebrows.

Grace nodded. *'Yes.'*

The man turned, his expression suspicious. "It's too quiet. What are you doing?"

"Trying to soothe my mother's nerves because a madman has walked in waving a gun around, and she doesn't know why," Grace snapped, taking hold of Sam's hand and squeezing it gently.

"Well, you know, Grace, so why don't you tell her?"

"Actually, I don't. All I know is you're the one who orchestrated this case, but I don't know why."

"Your colleagues do. They're here now," he said.

Grace's heart leapt, but quickly sank again. "How do you know that?"

"I heard the siren. It's not standard police vehicle, it's from an unmarked car or the car of a high-ranking, plain clothes copper," he replied smugly. "And since whoever's in it arrived not long after I did, it's logical to assume your team have *finally* put all the pieces together, and in the correct order, no less. I'm astonished."

His heavy sarcasm wasn't lost on Grace, but before she could retort, Sam interrupted. "Will someone *please* tell me who the hell this man is?"

"Deputy Assistant Commissioner Robert Carter," Grace replied in a deflated tone, but her eyes quickly widened as something clicked in her head. "Oh my God…. You're Neil Karter's…nephew?"

Carter smiled thinly. "Top marks, Dr Foley. Very impressive."

But Sam was still frowning. "Why is the DAC holding us hostage?"

"Because he thinks Dad murdered his uncle!" Grace exploded, her tone louder than she wanted it to be, an aggressive, frustrated tone there she wasn't hoping to show.

Sam ignored her and turned to Carter. "Are you completely mad? Christopher could no more kill a person that the sun could stop shining."

"I know he killed my uncle," Carter replied somewhat stubbornly.

"Where is your proof?" Sam asked.

"I don't need proof!" Carter yelled, and Grace got her first glimpse of the real man behind the façade. It wasn't a pretty sight.

Sam's expression turned distasteful. "Oh. You're one of those. Upset because Christopher arrested your uncle for unlawful behaviour in war time, and you think your relative should have been allowed to continue whatever he was doing. Well, do your worst. It won't change a damn thing. Your uncle will still be dead, and so will you before the end of today, or you'll be living the rest of your life in a prison cell. Either way, your revenge will not be as sweet as you imagined."

Carter pulled his fist back with a mind to strike her with the butt of his gun. "Shut up!" he yelled.

"Don't!" Grace pleaded with him, shielding her mother with her body.

"What were you doing here before, Grace?" Sam asked. "And please don't bother with the Alzheimer's lie. It's degrading."

The profiler winced. "I was trying to protect you, Mother."

"And don't 'mother' me either," Sam replied. "If this young man is so desperate for the truth, the truth he shall have. Why were you here?"

"I came to see…someone."

Sam stared for a moment, then her eyes widened. "Not *him*!"

"Mum, be quiet!" Grace urged her, but it was far too late.

"Him who?" Carter asked intently.

"How could you, Grace?" Sam asked over the top of Carter's question, shaking her head. "After everything he's done to this family, how could you?"

"He hasn't done anything," Grace replied exasperatedly. "Or at least nothing to me. I thought he might be able to tell me the truth about Dad."

"What truth? Grace, your father loved you, and he loved Andrew too, although God only knows why sometimes. There is no truth. Christopher never murdered anyone."

Carter suddenly fired a round into the wardrobe. "For the love of Christ, shut up!" he shouted. "I want to know who Grace came to see earlier; I thought it was you." He was staring at Sam.

"Don't be ridiculous. It was her brother, Andrew."

Carter's eyes bulged. "Andrew Foyle is dead."

"Full marks," Sam said sarcastically. "He is quite dead."

"Don't test me, woman!" Carter pointed the gun at Sam's forehead, but she didn't so much as blink.

"Mr Carter, I have been through a war, and seen and endured more horrors than you can conceive. I have been blown up and poisoned with anthrax and survived more air raids that I had hot dinners during that time. Don't threaten me."

"If my colleagues are here, they'll be in this room any second after that shot," Grace warned Carter.

As if on cue, they heard a shout, a strong, commanding voice. "Grace!" Boyd yelled, though he needn't have as he sounded like he was just on the other side of the door.

"Boyd!" Grace shouted back thankfully, a distant recollection of a similar situation lingering at the edge of her mind.

Carter swung the gun on the profiler, his eyes wild. "Shut up!"

"As I was saying, before this lunatic tried to threaten me," Sam continued calmly as though they were all having afternoon tea, "Andrew Foyle is quite dead. Andrew Leroy, however, is not."

Out of the corner of her eye, Grace saw a movement outside of the window, and a quick glance at Carter told her he hadn't seen anything. "What are you talking about?" he asked Sam, his tone indicating he thought *she* was the crazy one.

"Andrew Leroy is Andrew Foyle." Sam shrugged. "He just changed his name. So, after you've killed us, you'll then have to get him, and I would jolly well like to see you try."

Carter was shaking his head furiously. "You're lying. He's dead."

"Actually, he's very much alive. Unfortunately," she added disdainfully. "He lives down the opposite corridor if you'd care to check."

"Shut up!"

"And then, of course," Sam continued relentlessly, "You'll have to track down all of Andrew's children. Of course, you can't do that if you're dead or in jail, now, can you?" She shook her head, her expression one of extreme pity. "It's not much of a revenge, is it? Especially as you seemed to have spent most of your life planning it. Hiding yourself in the police force was an extremely clever move, yet you seem to have been incredibly thick in ever other aspect of this foolish revenge attempt. What happened? Did your balls drop off or something?"

Grace could only gape in horror at the words coming out of her mother's mouth. It was a side she had never seen before, but something told her this hard-arsed Sam had been let loose on a previous occasion. She pitied whoever had been on the receiving end. Carter, however, was beyond all kind of thought. With a strangled cry, he pointed the gun at Sam, his finger already putting pressure on the trigger.

*"NOW!"*

Grace and Sam shouted at the same time, though the profiler was surprised her mother had seen Spencer lurking outside near the window. The glass shattered as the bullet passed through it and lodged itself in Carter's shoulder. He screamed in pain, dropping the gun the moment his flesh was pierced. The next thing they knew, both Spencer and Stella were in the room, their guns trained on Carter, and Boyd followed them, his face grim.

"Robert Carter, you're under arrest for too many things to mention here," Boyd said wearily. "Spence, get him out of here."

"Hospital, boss?" Spencer asked as he hauled Carter to his feet by his bad shoulder.

"If you really have to," Boyd replied. "Just make sure he doesn't bleed all over the place on the way out."

"We'll take him this way," Stella said, gesturing to the completely smashed patio doors, and grabbed Carter's other arm.

Boyd leant against the doorframe, his eyes locked with Grace's. "Are you both alright?" he asked, hoping his voice was steady.

Grace nodded, not trusting herself to speak, but Sam solved the problem for her. "Oh, just tickety-boo," she replied, smiling as she took hold of her daughter's hand.

TBC


	21. Chapter 21

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The Commissioner stood, stiff backed and poker-faced, in the entrance hall to the home when Boyd emerged from Sam's room with Grace and her mother. With obviously painful steps, he walked up to Boyd.

"Well done," he said gruffly.

Boyd just stared at him. "Thank you, sir."

"Was it…necessary to wound…him?"

"Very necessary, sir," Boyd replied without hesitation. "He was about to shoot Mrs Foley. If my people had waited, she would have been dead by now, quite possibly Dr Foley as well."

"Oh, come now, Boyd, there's no need for all this pretence," the Commissioner said, acting as if the DSI hadn't spoken. "They're not Foleys at all, they're Foyles." He was also acting as if he and Boyd were alone.

But before the DSI could reply, Sam spoke, and Grace instinctively cringed as her mother opened her mouth. "Young man…," she started, and both Boyd and Grace choked on that. "…I do not appreciate being treated like a phantom or a spectre. I'm right here; if you have anything to ask or say, then do so to my face." Sam shook her head. "Honestly, what do they teach young people today? Sometimes I think 'respect' is just a word in the dictionary somewhere under 'R'."

To their credit, neither Boyd nor Grace laughed or even smiled, although they studiously avoided each other's gaze as the Commissioner looked affronted and sheepish at the same time. Luckily, Eve, who had been loitering nearby having a cigarette, stepped up to cause any further problems.

"Spence wants to know if Carter's going back to our office," she said.

Boyd nodded. "The usual drill. Make sure there's nothing on him he can injure himself with, book him, and put him in a cell." He then looked at the Commissioner as though daring him to contradict him. He didn't.

"I want to observe the interviews with him," was all he said.

"Of course, sir."

The Commissioner nodded once curtly. "Good. Well, if there's nothing else…."

Eve flashed Boyd a quick glance. "Actually, Commissioner, there is."

"Yes, Dr Lockhart?" he asked.

"I need your permission for two exhumations," she replied quickly. "James Talbot and Neil Karter. If we're to prove Foyle's guilt or innocence and close the matter once and for all, I need to look at those bodies."

"Do you have anything at all on them?" The Commissioner's obvious reluctance made Boyd want to snort derisively. They were trying to do a proper job and he clearly wanted to just sweep everything under the rug, consequences to all involved be damned.

Out of the corner of his eye, Boyd saw Grace put her hand on Sam's arm and mutter in her ear. Obviously Sam was worried about the truth coming out concerning her husband. Boyd knew, as did Grace, her worries were completely unfounded.

"I think it's important, sir," Boyd replied for Eve. "Talbot's death is suspicious as no one knew why a healthy man just collapsed, and Karter was described as having a head injury, presumably from a fall, but Dr Lockhart will be able to confirm that quite quickly. We wouldn't want anyone to accuse us of doing a white-wash, sir, would you?"

The Commissioner tried not to sigh. "No, of course not, Boyd. All right, Dr Lockhart. Go ahead and do what you need to."

"Thank you," Eve replied.

"Now, if you'll excuse me." The Commissioner didn't bother to say goodbye to anyone or exchange any more pleasantries; he simply turned and walked away.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Boyd glared at the scientist. "Eve…," he said in a low voice.

She quickly held her hands up. "I know, I know, I'm sorry. But I didn't exactly have time to run it by you."

"What are you up to, Eve?" Grace asked. It was the first time she had spoken properly since her hostage ordeal and Boyd was almost overjoyed to hear her voice.

"If Karter suffered a lethal brain injury, the chances are his skull will be damaged," Eve replied in a low voice. "People land different if they fall or they are pushed. In any case, his skull will tell us what happened to him."

"We already know," Sam said in a hollow voice.

Eve smiled. "Don't be so sure, Mrs Foley."

Sam looked at her sharply. "You'd do that for us?"

"For Grace, of course," Eve said simply.

"What about Talbot?" Boyd asked.

Eve pursed her lips. "While you were in there, I had some time to think."

"Dangerous," Grace murmured.

The pathologist continued regardless. "Now we know Karter left America under a cloud, shall we say. He was suspected in several rapes and murders, and suddenly he disappears. Now, Mrs Foyle, am I right in thinking your husband wouldn't have arrested someone without a good reason?"

Sam shook her head. "Of course he wouldn't."

"So, what if there's a link between Karter and Talbot?" Eve suggested. "We found a link with the other three men, but not these two?"

"We've been approaching both deaths as separate cases," Grace said thoughtfully. "Maybe that's why we weren't getting anywhere."

Boyd ran a hand through his hair. "Alright, let's run with this hypothesis for now. Karter and Talbot are linked. How? Did Talbot arrange for Karter to come over here and disappear? Was he helping him select his victims?" He shook his head. "Talbot must have been a canny bastard not to leave any trace at all."

But Grace was frowning. "Not necessarily true. There was no trace because we didn't know what we were looking for. I'll bet if we look again, we'll find something. And I think we should look at Mark Talbot's books. It's possible he learnt a few tricks from his grandfather."

"Grace, I'm shocked," Eve said, shaking her head. "That's the kind of attitude I'd expect from Boyd."

"She puts it in a nicer way, though," Boyd replied with a smile.

"But how did Talbot die?" Sam asked.

"That is what I'm hoping to find out." Eve smiled as she pulled her mobile and her cigarettes out. "Now if you don't need me…?"

Boyd shook his head. "No, you've got enough to do. How long…?"

"As long as it takes, Boyd," Eve replied, walking away.

Sam pulled Grace close. "Thank you."

"Thank *him*," Grace replied, looking at Boyd.

"Thank Spence for being such a bloody good shot," Boyd said.

Sam looked at him. "Thank you all. I expect you have to go now. A lot to sort out."

But to Sam's, and Grace's, great surprise, Boyd shook his head. "Not yet. There are a couple of loose ends here that need tying up. If you'll follow me." And with that, he lead the two frowning women back inside, though their confusion soon cleared when they stopped outside Andrew's door.

"I should have guessed," Sam said a little ruefully.

Boyd looked at her. "I know very little of your family history, but I do know this feud has gone on for long enough."

"Perhaps, but you'd better jolly well not be hoping I'll apologise first," Sam replied tartly.

Grace rolled her eyes and pushed the door open. "I really don't think Dad would want the two of you fighting, Mum."

"Grace, your father…."

They never found out what Sam was going to say because Andrew interrupted, throwing his frail arms around the profiler. "Thank God you're alright. I heard the shot."

She smiled at her brother. "We're fine, Andrew."

"Good." Then Andrew saw Sam, and for a moment they stood simply staring. Unbeknownst to the other two, they were looking at reflections from sixty years ago, when they were still young and in a certain way impetuous, despite being greatly matured by the war. "Sam, I…." Andrew faltered, then collected himself. "Grace told me everything, probably more than she should have, when she came to visit me earlier. It seems for years we've all been walking on eggshells around each other when there was no need. It seems our father, your husband, had a lot more faith in each of us than we've ever had in each other."

"Whose fault is that?" Sam asked sharply.

Andrew sighed. "No one's, that's my point. Look, Sam, I owe you an apology, I know that. I treated you badly, and didn't even stop to think you were doing what you were doing for the greater good. I just…my pride got in the way. In a lot of ways, I still smarted over being rejected by you." He smiled at her. "You never realised what a catch you were, and how many of us wanted to eat our livers when you chose my father over the rest of us. Of course, Dad never talked to me about his work, and so I didn't think there could be a problem. But now I realise there was a problem…."

"Andrew," Grace said softly, but Boyd interrupted her.

"We're exhuming the bodies of Talbot and Karter," he told the older man. "Our pathologist will examine them in order to determine cause of death once and for all. The outcome should leave no one with any doubts to your father's innocence."

"Karter's death was an accident," Andrew stated with great conviction.

"Of course it was," Sam agreed, but Grace knew instantly her mother knew differently. "But his family didn't want to believe it."

"And so you changed your name to protect Dad's family, his name…his honour."

"Yes."

Tears welled up in Andrew's eyes. "Can you forgive me, Sam? We've fought long enough; can we talk and be friends now?"

"We can try," Sam replied solemnly, reaching for his hand.

Silently, Boyd motioned Grace out of the room, and neither occupant noticed them leaving.

TBC


	22. Chapter 22

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Boyd tried to insist that Grace went home, but she ignored him and ordered him to go back to the office. Well, it more of a polite suggestion, but Grace managed to disguise drill sergeants demands in that outfit. And while Boyd grumbled, because it was expected of him, he was in truth more than happy to do whatever Grace wanted; wherever she wanted to go, he would take her. As long as she was safe, as long as she was alive…that was all that mattered to him.

There was a brief squabble between Stella and Spencer over who got to hug Grace first, and finally Stella was a gentleman and allowed Spencer to go first.

"No thanks to you, Spence," Grace said in response to the DI's question about whether she was okay or not.

Spencer shrugged depreciatively. "I'm just good at my job, that's all."

Boyd clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Which is why I kidnapped him for this unit before someone else snapped him up." He craned his neck towards the lab. "How's Eve…?"

"We've been banned, sir," Stella replied before Boyd finished his sentence.

Immediately his face hardened and he took an almost involuntary step towards the lab. "Banned?" There was no bigger challenge to Boyd than saying 'don't'.

Stella nodded. "Yes, sir. All of us. Including Grace."

Now that was a shock. "What's she up to?" Grace asked, but the DC just shrugged in reply.

"Oh come on, Stella, you've got to know," Spencer said.

Stella shook her head. "Eve didn't tell me anything."

"She's up to something," Grace said to Boyd.

"Of course. Leave her to it." He glanced at his watch. "I don't know about anyone else, but I could use a drink. Pub? First round's on me."

Boyd realised he should have moved himself out of the way before uttering those words as he was almost trampled by a mini-stampede. Sighing and rolling his eyes to himself, he followed the others out, leaving Eve to her solitude.

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The team was in much better spirits when they returned to the lab, probably because of all the spirits they had consumed, but their joviality quickly evaporated when they saw Eve sat waiting for them. They all quickly formed a line like naughty school children waiting outside headmaster's office.

"Have fun, did we?" she asked, and they all cringed.

"You were busy," Spencer said.

"We were banned," Stella added.

"All of us," Boyd contributed.

"Even me," Grace finished.

Eve thought for a moment, seemingly trying to sink the opposing arguments, but as she had mislaid her bazooka, she simply shrugged. "Well, you'd better be impressed with what I've found."

"In just a few hours?" Boyd asked, surprised. Everyone glared at him. "Sorry. Forget I spoke."

"Gladly," Eve murmured. "Right. Now, I hate to disappoint anyone, but I'm going to speak very frankly because, frankly, I'm tired, like the rest of you, and would like to just go home."

Spencer looked at the others and smiled. "I knew there was a reason I liked her."

Eve smiled back. "Thanks, Spence. So, the reason this didn't take very long is because I knew what I was looking for on one of the bodies, and I had a good idea on the second. And I know it's your job…." She looked at the officers. "…But I've formed a hypothesis that fit's the facts fairly well."

"Let's hear it," Boyd said, leaning back in his chair.

"We know Karter died from a head injury, and sure enough I found a nice dent in his skull that is fairly conclusive of that. I can say with ninety nine percent surety that he fell backwards, caught his head on the corner of the table, which would be consistent with the shape of the hole in the skull, and death would have been almost instantaneous. And, from the records the American Embassy sent us, we know Karter was wanted on suspicion of rape and murder of several young women that the police knew of, but I think, reading between the lines, they expected there to be more," Eve explained, occasionally pointing to photos on the board of Karter's skeleton and other notes. "From the police reports of the murders, there was also a certain macabre aspect to Karter's character that shone through when he killed."

"How so?" Stella asked.

"The victims were mutilated so badly that identification was virtually impossible," Eve replied grimly. "Usually the body was identified because of a piece of jewellery that had been left, or scraps of clothing. There were a couple of cases where the bodies couldn't be identified, but women had gone missing at the same time, so the police reasoned the bodies were theirs, they just weren't sure which one belonged to which woman."

"Jesus," Boyd murmured, running a hand through his hair. His spare hand automatically sought Grace's. "And Foyle arrested him on suspicion of murder over here, am I right?"

Spencer nodded, looking at the notes on his desk. "The stuff the American Embassy sent us makes it pretty clear the police were close arresting Karter, and death sentence would have been a given conclusion with the evidence they had. Karter must have felt he was in danger and skipped the country."

"Turning up in Hastings, where he starts his cycle all over again," Grace added in a thin voice.

Boyd squeezed her hand. "I have a theory as well, but let's hear yours first, Eve."

"Karter's victims were all young, bubbly women," the pathologist continued. "Spirited, strong-willed…and blonde. I think Karter made remarks about Sam Stewart, and when Foyle didn't react, Karter attacked him. Foyle's disengages himself and moves away. Karter tries to attack him again, catches his foot on a chair leg maybe, knocking himself off-balance. He fell backwards, hit his head on the table, and was dead as soon as touched the floor. Foyle goes to get a medic and another officer. He doesn't know Karter's dead. When they find out he is, Foyle swears he never touched Karter, and with Foyle's reputation and Karter's psychotic behaviour, no one doubts Foyle's word."

Grace was shaking her head. "Flimsy and inconclusive."

"We can't get any more conclusive with hardly any evidence and sixty years that have passed," Eve replied. "Trust me, there's more than enough to make that theory stick."

"Is there?" Grace asked. "Look, I appreciate what you're trying to do, but it won't work."

"It will," Eve insisted, then looked around the team. "Stella, come here for a moment. I need you to play Karter."

"Okay," the DC said, standing.

"Right…who do you trust more to catch you, Boyd or Spence?"

Stella's eyes widened. "Boyd," she said quietly, and then looked at the DI. "Sorry, Spence."

But Spencer just smiled. "S'alright. I wouldn't want that responsibility."

"Thanks, Spence," Boyd said, dryly, standing as well.

"Okay, Boyd, I want you behind Stella," Eve told him. "Yeah, there's good. Be ready to catch her, but once you've got her, carry on lowering her to the ground."

"Alright."

"Now, Stella, darling, I know this will be difficult for you, but I want you to work yourself up into a foaming frenzy and try to attack me," Eve said, her throaty voice laced heavily with amused irony.

Stella grinned. "I'll try my best." And proceeded to launch herself at Eve.

Under any other circumstances, the situation would have been side-splittingly hilarious, but there was a macabre edge to it all. Stella tried to attack Eve, who simply moved away. Then the DC tried again, but this time got her legs tangled in a chair. Feeling herself falling forwards, Stella pulled her herself upright as she quickly began wind-milling her arms, propelling herself backwards. Unfortunately, the momentum was too much and she careened straight over. Boyd caught her, noting how close she had come to hitting her head on the table edge; so close, in fact, that as he lowered her to the ground, he had to move her to the right a few inches.

"And that's what happened," Eve concluded. "At least, that would be my guess, and really, after everything that's happened, if anyone wants to dispute it, I doubt many people, if anyone, will want to listen."

Spencer was clapping. "Well done, all of you. Top notch performance."

"Shut up, Spence," Boyd groused, returning to his seat.

Suddenly Stella began rummaging through a drawer in her desk, and then wordlessly handed Grace a tissue. Teary eyed, the profiler smiled her thanks and wiped her face.

"Alright, what about Talbot?" Spencer asked.

"Ah. Now, he was a little more difficult, but I was lucky enough to come up with the solution on the first idea I had," Eve replied.

"Because you're just that good," Boyd said dryly.

"Actually, it was elementary, my dear Boyd…as well as the fact that I am just that good."

Grace smiled at their banter. "Astound us, Eve."

"I thought I already had done," the pathologist murmured. "Right, we may or may not be able to prove that Karter and Talbot were linked, but I think it's quite likely Talbot was Karter's…'sponsor', if you like, here. Karter just ran from America, and by chance or fate, once in England, he meets James Talbot. The two get to talking, Talbot sees a young man who isn't afraid of getting his hands dirty, Karter sees someone who will protect him. Talbot is a fairly respectable member of the community, but I bet if you start digging, you'll find dirt not far under that pristine layer of a gentleman. Unfortunately, the first murder sees them both arrested. Now, there's no record of why Talbot was in Hastings police station…."

"You mean, DAC Carter never *gave* us a record, if there was one in the first place," Stella interrupted.

"Which is exactly what I was going to say."

"Sorry."

"You can make it up to me later."

"Come on, concentrate," Boyd groaned.

Eve ignored him. "So, it's possible all the men who died were linked, but that's stretching things. We've worked out what happened to Hammerton, Tanner, and Smith, and I think we can assume for now that Talbot and Karter were connected."

"How safe is that assumption?" Spencer asked.

"Based on the evidence I've found, I'd say fairly safe," Eve replied. "I've been thinking about causes of death without a trace, and why a seemingly healthy man like Talbot would just drop dead. Any kind of sudden brain haemorrhaging would, of course, be impossible to find now, but then I started to think about poison. On a hunch, the first thing I did with Talbot's skull was to examine his teeth."

"And?" Grace asked.

Eve pointed to a photo on the board that showed nothing much except a greenish-blue fluorescent glow. "This is what I found."

"And?" Boyd asked, an impatient tone creeping into his voice.

Eve rolled her eyes. "This is the inside of Mr James Talbot's mouth…or at least what's left of it. Working on the hypothesis he died of some sort of poison, I tested for cyanide, which is the most common poison, especially in capsule form. Now, inorganic cyanide reacts with a solution of para-benzoquinone in DMSO…."

"DMSO?" Spencer asked.

“Dimethyl sulfoxide," Eve replied.

"Thanks."

"So it reacts with those two substances to form cyanophenol, which is fluorescent, and under a UV light…."

"It gives off a greenish-blue glow," Boyd finished. "Wow, Eve. That's…really impressive."

Eve grinned. "Thank you."

"So you think that Talbot, knowing Karter was mentally unstable and could crack under intense questioning, killed himself?" Stella asked.

Eve nodded. "Or Talbot knew there was irrefutable evidence linking him with Karter. Either way, he knew he was doomed, and so he killed himself. And of course if he was thought to be carrying nothing, his death would have just been put down as natural causes."

"Will it…stand up in court?" Grace's voice was small.

"I don't think it will have to," Boyd replied quietly. "I'll take these findings to the Commissioner and somehow, I doubt he'll even *think* about trying to pick holes in them. I could probably hand him the script from a Monty Python sketch and he wouldn't care. After everything that's happened, the Commissioner won't want another officer's reputation destroyed."

A fresh burst of emotion welled up in Grace and she began crying again. "Thank you," she sobbed.

Spencer reached across the table and took her hand. "That's what friends are for."

Boyd looked thoughtful for a moment. "Spence, you and Stella find Mark Talbot and arrest him. If he protests, bash him over the head…."

"Boyd," Eve admonished for Grace, since the profiler couldn't speak.

"…With the fact we know his wealth has been illegally made," the DSI continued.

"Do we, sir?" Stella asked.

"No, but his reaction will give us a definite answer. Seize all his records; tax, wages, expenses…I want everything. Read him his rights, bring him here, book him for fraud, and stick him in a cell."

Spencer nodded. "And then?"

"Go home. Relax. Take a couple of days off. Just make sure the duty sergeant knows those two are ours and that he doesn't give them any special treatment," Boyd replied. "That means no phone calls, and especially no lawyers."

"Commissioner Davison won't like this," Eve said.

"I don't care. Go with them. Throw in lots of scientific terms until he's shitting his pants."

"I feel like a member of the Mafia," Stella said as she collected her coat.

"Do the French have Mafia?" Spencer asked as they left.

"Now what?" Grace asked after a few moments of silence.

 

Boyd touched her face gently. "We go home."

"Separately?"

He shook his head. "Together. My place, your place, doesn't matter. I'm not letting you out of my sight. Not for a while, anyway."

Grace smiled. "Thank you."

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A few hours and a bottle and a half of wine later saw Grace and Boyd curled up on his couch, have showered, changed and eaten, and finally feeling some semblance of relaxed.

"I think my mother likes you," Grace said quietly.

Boyd looked at her. "Should I be worried?"

"Definitely. The Foyle women are even more difficult to resist than the Foyle men."

"Yes, I know." Boyd sipped his wine. "I still can't believe you lived with the knowledge of what your father had done for most of your life. And you protected Andrew and Sam, even though your mother knew. You never once stopped loving your father, or worried about what it would do to your life if the truth ever came out. You just carried on and made such a career for yourself. You just…did it, didn't you?"

"Yes," she said simply.

Boyd caressed Grace's cheek tenderly. "You're amazing."

Grace smiled warmly at him. "Thank you."

"Though not as amazing as your mother," Boyd added after a pause.

"Boyd!"

FIN


End file.
